


Destiny (Whether You Like It Or Not)

by Diana_Prallon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Christmas Music, Complicated Relationships, Drama & Romance, Friendship, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Inspired by..., Minor pairings - Freeform, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Song Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 66,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Prallon/pseuds/Diana_Prallon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur doesn't believe in romance - which is ironic, since he <i>writes romantic comedies for a living</i> and lives with Gwen&Lance, also known as the Most Romantic Couple Ever. </p><p>Luckily, he has Gwaine around to keep him from drowning in sap and to take him along in his brand of insanity as Arthur fails again and again in every attempt of dating (but, hey, at least they're making friends on the way!)</p><p>Even Gwaine's obsession with singing porny versions of Christmas Songs about his sister is nothing but proof that Gwaine brings the right kind of crazy to Arthur's life.</p><p>... At least until they meet and it just becomes <i>all sorts of crazy</i>, not just the right one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Arthur Met Everyone Else

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glayvas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glayvas/gifts).



> I don't think I've ever had so many notes to write, but here we go; in topics.
> 
> First of all, Merry Christmas, Glayvas! I hope this is... Not to scarring. I tried to use as much as I could from the prompts as I could, and the tags, and the original idea I had been nurturing for it, it got a bit out of control. Which seems to be clear by the sheer size of this. Unfortunately, for all the idea to flow, I needed to let go of the Gwen/Morgana thing and work with Gwaine instead, and I'm -so- sorry about it, but that's how things go. Still, I hope you'll like it some.
> 
> Second, this was initially inspired by a HIMYM episode (Little Minnesota, I think), because making up porny songs sounded like something Gwaine would do, and then it just spiralled out from there into something... a bit big, with some more influence of it, specially in the whole "Let's tell everyone how we got here" thing, because - well, it felt right - at least until the moment that the real story begun, so, bear with me. As in the show's case, the specifics were heavily inspired by some of my Real Life friends antics, because they're amazing like that and don't mind at all being turned into fiction. And, yes, chapters are titled after HIMYM episodes.
> 
> Third, with that in mind, I'd ask you all to remember that in most of the first part of the fic, we're years and years in the past, and those people grew up in a world that is a bit different from the one we have now (and we've improved so much in those things), so please forgive them - and me - if something irks you in language, but I'm a firm believer in period-appropriate conversations (and let's not even talk about how much the show actually failed in this, because, well, I don't have enough characters left for it). It was not my intention, at any moment, to offend anyone with anything.
> 
> Fourth, I am thankful for all the help I've got from betas and cheerleaders, and any mistakes left are my own.
> 
> Fifth, most of this is absolutely ridiculous and I'm sorry for it, but it was SO FUN, and I hope you can just have fun with it and don't mind much how ridiculous it is.
> 
> And just to wrap it up, I thank every one in merlin_holidays organisation that have kept this fest running, and making us happy, and being awesome all around. You guys rock.

 

The thing about Arthur’s life, is that it used to be normal. Perfectly and completely normal. He grew up in a nice house, with his two parents, who absolutely loved him unconditionally and each other to death. He had a sister who was only one year older than him, who also was a harpy, and moved away for college. He was handsome, popular, a sport star at school and eventually went to the college of his choice; leaving his tiny town of Tintagel behind. He met his roommate on day one, and was lucky enough to like him — they got own like a house on fire, to be more precise — and knew this was a lifelong friendship. He settled in University just fine, and introduced his roommate, Lance, to the only other person he knew on Campus: Gwen, who had attended school with his sister and been her best friend for years — and who was just starting too, as she returned from her gap year abroad.

 

His life had been perfectly normal. He tried and failed to maintain a relationship with his school love. Then, he dated a few people. He fell in love. He got his heart broken. He partied hard, and studied harder, and had good grades. He got his degree, with effort and pride. He watched as those who had become his truest, closest, dearest friends fell in love and got together; how they were slowly but surely walking towards the altar and marriage. They moved to Camelot together, the biggest city in the country, and started to discover it — with winnings and failures, just like any other twenty-somethings out there, all over the globe.

 

Then — then, he had met Gwaine.

 

And things sort of spiralled down towards crazy there.

 

Now, Arthur liked crazy — some crazy, at least. Crazy made for good stories, and if real life wasn’t sweet, well, he knew exactly how to make it so. All those years, him and Morgana alone in the house while his father was away in one business trip or another, it had left him with a thorough knowledge of how things were supposed to be in romance world, at least what novels and soaps and movies made it to be; what women supposedly wanted, and what sold well when it came to fiction. He had used it to his advantage; both in getting lucky and in his career.

 

(That his father was well known and had contacts everywhere also hadn’t hurt, but Arthur tried not to think of it much).

 

He had enough sanity in his life, what-with Gwen being all down to earth and centred; with a perfectly reasonable sort of 9 to 5 job in teaching preschoolers — it didn’t always make it easy with Lance’s hectic schedule — but it was still centred and grown up as his long hours were caused by his excessively good heart and saviour complex as he battled through residency and dreamed of becoming a pediatrician. It was just one of those things that made them perfect for each other; often sharing details about their kids and giggling about their cute stories; or having profound conversations on things that totally went over Arthur’s head. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so sweet — or if the first story he had ever managed to sell to a movie company hadn’t been inspired by them. Arthur was grateful enough to endure some sweet nothings and tiny little habits that he could never see himself having.

 

It was good, it kept him centred, helped him develop healthy habits and have some sort of timetable for himself and his days. It stopped him from spiralling down towards the crazy, late night writing sprints and long mornings of hangover that seemed to be the lot of most people that made money through writing.

 

Maybe he had missed a bit of crazy in his life. All of his teenage years had been filled with it in the form of his wild, inappropriate, rebellious older sister. Morgana had been filled with some particular fire and Arthur thought half of the reason their parents had been so willing to pay for her and Gwen’s travel around the world for a whole year was that they had hoped it’d be enough adventure to tame her (and the money would not even be missed, so…). Of course, they had been sorely mistaken — even if it had made her land a somewhat profitable and permanent job; Arthur was sure that Uther was more horrified by Morgana’s modelling than by Arthur’s artistic inclination. Perhaps it was because it kept him with his clothes on, while his sister… Well. Her definitions of clothes seemed to be very flexible. And tiny. Uther was an old, conservative man; and more than once it was clear he had to fight the urge to get her into a coat or glare at the men around them in fashion shows.

 

(He also seemed to be completely unaware that most of those man would eye _Arthur himself_ more often than his sister, but Arthur preferred it that way. He didn’t put it past his father doing exactly the same to him and mortifying him utterly).

 

So, in a way, Gwaine’s crazy was good — it was something he needed — it was something he enjoyed even while pretending not to; and Gwaine probably knew it too, it was likely to be the very reason he stayed around; part of the reason he had wormed himself into their little group with charming smiles and unbelievable anecdotes.

 

It didn’t mean he was glad with his brand of crazy and inappropriate, though.

 

* * *

 

 

It had started maybe two years after they first met — and Arthur should’ve predicted it, really. Gwaine had come by to meet them on their way to a New Year’s Eve party when he saw the card that Gwen had pinned to their fridge. It was clearly a discarded picture from a photo shoot, and Morgana was laughing, her head thrown back, her black hair shiny and curling down her back, dressed in a red dress and with silly antlers. It was a perfectly harmless picture, specially considering some of the things she had done.

 

Gwaine had picked it up immediately, reading the caption for a moment ( “Gwen, dearest, merry Christmas. Send the boys my love. — XXX, Morgana) before he whistled low. Arthur didn’t even had the time to fully register what was going on before his newest friend was frowning and singing in a truly terrible falsetto.

 

_“Santa Baby, just slip ‘Gana under the tree for me;_

_Been an awful good boy, Santa baby,_

_So hurry down the chimney tonight”_

 

“This is my sister!” he spluttered, his face red.

 

“Also, a bit late for Santa to show up, mate” had agreed Lance, with a small smile.

 

“She’s a catch!” Gwaine announced, wiggling his eyebrows. “Where have you been hiding her, Princess?”

 

“She’d have you for breakfast” he warned, and that just made him give a lecherous grin.

 

“I’m counting on that!”

 

“Gwaine!” Gwen chided, having just arrived, and slapped him in the arm lightly. “Don’t be rude.”

 

“That’s like telling a dog not to bark” sniggered Arthur, but Gwaine was never put off by this sort of comment, and just threw his arm around him, pulling him close.

 

“Oh, you love it. Every second of it. So much you’ll introduce your sister to me next time she’s in town.”

 

Arthur had just scoffed at that.

 

“Not in a million years.”

 

“Come on, we’re gonna be late” said Gwen, and Arthur thought that had been the end of it.

 

Oh, how wrong he had been.

 

* * *

 

 

Gwaine was smart, and didn’t say anything for so long that Arthur had completely, completely forgotten the incident.

 

Until Christmas season had arrived again.

 

Part of it was, he was sure, Uther’s fault. He had talked his ear off, and Arthur had been maudlin and irritable as he spoke to Gwen and Lance, Gwaine in the kitchen trying to find something that was still edible.

 

“So, my father is giving a Ball on Christmas Eve. It’s ridiculous and old fashioned, but no one dares contradict him. He’ll make all of Tintagel come to it, when people probably would rather to be in their own homes. Now he’s demanding my presence — he wants to have a full family front for it, says it’ll look good for his candidacy next year.” Arthur lowered his head, resting it against the back of his chair. “It’ll be a nightmare.”

 

“Did he manage to convince Morgana of going?” Gwen asked, and Arthur just huffed.

 

“She’s already there. She scheduled her holidays around it and everything — she’s been there for weeks, it seems.”

 

“Well, with any luck, she’ll destroy the whole estate before Christmas Eve” Lance tried to cheer him up, but it only made him huff.

 

“And now, father says I must drive up to Tintagel; that if Morgana, who has a real, out of the house job, could come, there is no possible excuse for me not to be there. I can’t even contradict him, we won’t start shooting for another six weeks, and my part is mostly done anyway, and he knows it, of course, because Olaf told him all about it in their last lunch — damn the man.”

 

“Oh, it won’t be that bad” Gwen said, rubbing his leg soothingly. “Look, if it makes you feel better, we’ll come with you.”

 

“Christmas with the in-laws, I like it” Lance agreed, leaning down to kiss her.

 

They were truly disgusting. And truly the best people in the world.

 

“Thanks” he said, with a sigh. “I still have to…”

 

“What is this?” Gwaine piped in from the kitchen, and came into the room with a card in his hand.

 

This was, of course, Morgana’s Christmas card. She was laying down in the middle of a snow angel, in front of their parents house, thankfully completely covered.

 

“It’s my parent’s house” Arthur said, not really paying attention to it.

 

“House?” Gwaine asked, with a scoff. “Mansion, more likely. Anyway, I wasn’t talking about the house, just the —” he made a gesture, showing off Morgana’s body on the frame, the way her hair was spread through the snow, and why hadn’t he noticed before how tight her clothes were?

 

Oh, right. Because he was her brother.

 

Gwaine had no such restrains, and grabbed a vodka bottle that had been lying on the counter, before starting to sing — again.

 

_“I’ve…. I’ve been dreaming of a naked Christmas_

_Just like the ones I’ve used to go”_

 

Gwen giggled at that, and Lance snorted while Arthur groaned. He took back everything he had thought before about them being the best people in the world. They were the worst.

 

“Gwaine, as much as I love to hear your talent for completely despoiling Christmas songs and Irving Berlin’s legacy, now it’s not the time” Lance said, trying to hide his mirth. “Arthur’s having a serious holiday crisis here.”

 

“What’s up?” he had replied, sitting himself on the couch on the other side of him, as if there wasn’t a perfectly empty armchair in the room. “Princess doesn’t have a date for her Christmas Ball?”

 

The worst. Arthur groaned again.

 

“And there is that too” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve got to find myself a date.”

 

“We said we’re coming with you” Lance replied with a shake of his head.

 

“Yeah, honey, I don’t think we count as a date” Gwen answered, with a small smile.

 

“Yeah, better not let Papa Pendragon know you’re in an incestuous, pansexual, poly relationship” agreed Gwaine, and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh, picturing his father’s face if he sauntered in and announced that Gwen and Lance were his date for the evening. His friend stood up again and started heading back to his kitchen search.

 

“We don’t say this often, so hold on to it Gwaine — you’re right” he agreed. “It’d probably kill him. Which still leaves me with the issue of finding myself a date that won’t freak out about meeting my parents or decide it means we’re extremely serious in two weeks time.”

 

“Can’t you ask one of your colleagues?” wondered Gwen, with a pained smile. “Someone you’re friends with?”

 

“Yeah, that turned out really well the last time.”

 

Last time Arthur had been forced to go to a family event and bring a date had been to their cousin’s wedding. Uther had been adamant that it would be ridiculous for a twenty-five year old man to come alone. Arthur had wanted no sort of relationship, but him and Vivian had been really hitting off during the production of his next TV Series, and she had been invited to the wedding anyway — courtesy of being Olaf’s daughter — and it had seemed simple. A reasonable thing to do, without any sort of expectations. Then, sometime during the wedding ceremony, something the priest had said had made her think that the two of them were made to be, written in the stars and what-not. Arthur had been sure there wouldn’t be anything more shocking in the ceremony than Morgana showing up with a boy at least eight years her junior and barely out of school in tow, but he had been proved wrong. So _very_ wrong.

 

Vivian had told everyone how they were really serious, how Arthur would propose any day now, how she couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Pendragon. She ingratiated herself to his parents (who were mildly uncomfortable), bragged to Morgana (who just smirked through the whole thing), and talked the ear off the bride. That had led to Olaf confronting him about despoiling his daughter behind his back, and his attempts of telling the truth had fallen on deaf ears — partially because Olaf didn’t believe him and partially because it made Vivian wail so hard that the crystal glass in his hand shook.

 

In the end, he had bolted, with Morgana’s date as his runaway driver. Which was fortunate, as it caused him to actually meet Mordred, who was a talented young actor that Morgana was not sleeping with at all, but rather trying to sponsor — and who had since been responsible for some of his best hits with the teen audience, who just loved his curly back hair and sweet smiles. The unfortunate side, of course, was that it made Vivian quit her job right away, saying she’d never work with him again and leaving him with a ton of re-writes in order to explain her character’s sudden disappearance, some really annoying paparazzi and reporters following him around for days and gaining the reputation of being a bit of a player.

 

Which, eventually, he had really earned.

 

“Maybe not, then” she conceded, with a grimace.

 

“You could just go alone?” offered Lance, and Gwen gave him a small slap on the leg.

 

“Not gonna work with Uther” she said, with a sigh. “Maybe you could… Ask Isolde?”

 

Arthur sniggered at that.

 

“I don’t think she’s feeling very charitable towards me since I fired her brother. I’m probably the worst person to take anywhere at this time.”

 

“Wow, you really don’t have a date?” asked Gwaine, sauntering back in the living room, some beer bottles in his hands that he gave around.

 

“No options what so ever” he agreed, taking a sip of the beverage and wishing it was something stronger.

 

“Well — that’s easy. Take me.”

 

Arthur wished he could say he was shocked, but he wasn’t, not really. Just a bit disbelieving that Gwaine would say something like that. A heavy silence permeated the room while he just gaped at his friend.

 

“I mean, it makes sense” he continued, not noticing or ignoring the tension. “You’ll have a date, your father will be happy about it — well, at least a bit — we can wingman each other during it to try and score, and you can introduce me to this hot sister of yours.”

 

“Gwaine, you’re a man full of crappy ideas” Arthur answered, finally. “But this one probably is the worst of them all.”

 

“Why?” he asked, looking just a tad offended.

 

“For starters, you’re a man” Arthur said, while Gwen bit her lower lip and Lance looked at the floor, trying to pretend he wasn’t in that awkward situation.

 

“Right, you are” he answered, wiggling eyebrows and smiling, and Arthur would’ve laughed at it at any other moment. “But that’s not a problem, it just means that if nothing else works out we can —”

 

“My father is not aware I bed men” he reminded his friend, sighing. “And even if I were planning on letting him know in such a fashion; it wouldn’t be with you of all people.”

 

Gwaine blinked at this, before pouting.

 

“I’m a damn good date — and a damn good lay — and you know it.”

 

And, as a matter of a fact, the whole problem with the idea lay in the fact that Arthur did.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur, Gwen and Lance had been living in Camelot for eight months before they met Gwaine.

 

At first, they had been somewhat confused by the huge city, and so many things to do. Lance had managed to get in time for his first day at the hospital for his initial lecture by a hair’s breath; even if he had come out of the house over three hours before he was supposed to be there. Gwen had took everything in stride, perky as usual as she left on the morning of her first day of class, only to come back crying that she didn’t want to commute for hours every day (she, too, had gotten lost, they eventually noticed, but people were terrible at giving information). Arthur’s job in New Avalon Productions had started a whole week after theirs, and sure enough, it had gone down the same path: lost, confused and late — he had been scolded by someone other than his father for the first time in his whole life.

 

That should’ve been a wake up call, but as Morgana was fond of saying, Arthur could be really oblivious. Sometimes, it got him into trouble. In this case — well, it had gotten him into trouble, but of a different kind.

 

Arthur was assigned as a junior assistant to one of the backup writers; who were developing a new show that was meant to be their big release the following year. He had arrived — late — and been sent for coffee in just about ten seconds. When he came back, the meeting had arrived to the point where the first presentations of the show were happening. It was something truly silly, that was based on the idea that after years seeing people close their hearts to love and become immune to his arrows, Cupid had come down to Earth to actually try to understand humans in order to be effective once again, after being scolded by his mother. The idea was that every episode would show a different couple that Cupid had finally managed to join — starting with neighbours, moving towards coworkers (he would work at a coffee shop, since those were now considered the most romantic place of all times; and Arthur had to admit that very little in the world could top his infatuation for coffee), clients and finally; in the end; gaining his groove back and returning to Olympus.

 

It was ridiculous and far fetched — which was a given from the first line of the pitched idea — but people seemed to love it.

 

So, even all those years later, Arthur could not explain exactly why, apart from the fact that he had never really needed to control his mouth, he had spoken at all, much less out loud.

 

“And what about Psyche?”

 

That had made every head in the room turn towards him; and he had felt mildly embarrassed, especially considering how the Head Writer was now shooting daggers at him through stare alone. He gulped, before someone asked him what the hell had psyche do to with cupid. Which, naturally, had led someone else — one of the producers, Annis, — to summarise the myth to them, and turning towards Arthur with a wide beam.

 

She had loved it. And so did Olaf.

 

Alined, the Head Writer, was even more displeased, but he couldn’t completely dismiss anything that Olaf had liked, since it was his company. It had ended with the whole team coming together to try and scrape a whole secondary story revolving around Psy, 21st Century version of the mortal that would cause the Cupid to experience love first hand, even with her sort of punk clothes, fake red hair and combative behaviour as one of the employees of the shop next to Cupid’s coffee shop.

 

Incidentally, that was how he had met Vivian, whom he had only heard of so far, when she was cast — _completely by chance_ — as Psy.

 

The sheer amount of rewriting and re-planning it took meant that Arthur was basically holed up inside for months. It was the first time writing was truly a job, and he didn’t want to muck things up, which meant a whole lot of moaning, late night crying, early morning drinking and days without remembering to shower or eat, as he typed away things furiously that would later be revised, rewritten, and completely mangled — for the best, really.

 

So when all the scripts and adjustments were done and sent, and he was just on the verge of a true collapse, Lance and Gwen had intervened and taken him for a true night out. It was one of those lucky Fridays in which Lance was out of work in a reasonable hour and wasn’t scheduled to work on the following day, so Gwen had ordered him to shower (Arthur was ashamed to admit he probably stank by then), put on some nice clothes and go out with them.

 

It wasn’t as if Arthur had avoided social contact for months, he had been going to meeting and seeing his co-workers, and emailing and calling everyone all hours of the day, and he was tired, but his pleas were completely ignored by the couple. So, grudgingly, Arthur had showered, put on the clothes Gwen selected for him, and fixed his hair before they left. He had assumed they would go to the pub that was just across the street from their flat and where they had been to somewhat constantly in the last few months (mostly when there was no food in the house), but Gwen had hailed a cab as soon as they walked out.

 

“Not Kilgharrah’s” Gwen had said, pushing him inside the parked car. She was surprisingly strong for someone so tiny. “Today, you’re going to party with your people.”

 

As they pulled in front of The Crystal Cave, Arthur noticed for the first time that he hadn’t gone clubbing once since they had moved to Camelot — in spite of its vast amount of clubs being part of the reason they had been so excited at first; and it had been even longer since Arthur had been in a place like this — a place where he supposedly belonged. Truth was, ever since the whole Valiant Disaster two years before, he hadn't felt a lot like hooking up with other men and having his heart trampled. It made him feel both giddy and nervous, unsure of how he should behave in such an environment.

 

But The Crystal Cave wasn’t exactly a club — more like a mixed bar and dancing space, with booths on the corners where people could just talk and a glass room in the middle of the space, where people danced under blueish light. Funnily, outside of it, the sound was pleasantly low and they wouldn’t have to shout to hear each other. Arthur had eyed appreciatively the whole set up, the bodies moving in tandem inside, and Gwen had given him a small tug and they all had set in one of the empty corner booths around the bar.

 

It had taken something like 30 seconds for the first man to show up — so huge he would easily tower over all of them had them been standing, and even more so when they were sitting. The guy sported a sleeveless shirt that somehow didn’t look tacky on him and his arms were as large as Lance’s leg. He had a sweet, kind smile, but there was no doubt of his intentions as he slid beside Lance in the booth, his hand going straight to his friend’s small back.

 

“Hey” he had said, and smiled, and Lance had smiled too, if a bit awkwardly while Gwen giggled.

 

“Oh, I’m really flattered — but this is. I’m not. This is my girlfriend” he had said, gesturing towards her, and she had smiled sweetly back at the man, whose face was rapidly blushing.

 

“Oh — I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to…” the huge man hide his hand on his face, mortified. “I’m bollocks at this.”

 

“We came with our friend — Arthur” Gwen had elbowed him, and when he didn’t do anything, she continued. “We’re sort of new in town, and Arthur hadn’t come to any of the LGBT places yet.”

 

As she continued elbowing him, Arthur cleared his throat.

 

“Erm, hi. Arthur.”

 

He offered his hand for the man to shake, which he promptly did.

 

“Percy” he had scratched his head. “And I don’t come out often either — one of my friends actually dragged me here today —”

 

A loud laugh had cut his words, and a hand rested on Percy’s head. When Arthur looked up, there was another man almost doubling over in mirth there, his face half hidden by his falling hair.

 

“Oh, Percy, mate, don’t tell me you tried to hit on the straight one again.”

 

That had made Percy shake his head again, with a small snort of embarrassment, and the other man had petted his head.

 

“No harm done” said Lance, good natured. “We were just introducing Percy to our friend.”

 

And as the man turned towards Arthur, he felt acutely self-conscious for the first time in years. It was not simply that the man was handsome, with shiny hair and a scruffy beard covering the lower part of his face; it wasn't even only that his smile was far too charming to be real, or that his nose had an undeniable appeal — it was the way that his eyes roamed over Arthur, knowingly and appreciatively, making his trousers tight.

 

“I’m Gwaine” he had said with a smile and a hair flip.

 

And his life just dove back into crazy.

 

* * *

 

Gwaine hadn’t asked before sitting himself beside Arthur, his smile never faltering in the face of his obvious discomfort, which had led Percy to shake his head as if he was incorrigible (which, as it happened, he was). He had asked everyone what they were drinking and demanded to pay for it. He had asked about all of their lives, what they did and what they liked, and smiled at if he wanted nothing more than to hear all about them. He had told stories, and laughed at theirs, and eventually leaned across the table to stage whisper to Percy about this cute guy on another booth that was totally his type — which, by the way, meant looking like some sort of Latin sex god, and given him a few pointers before sending him packing. Then he explained to all of them as he and Percy had been roommates at university and how his friend was just now start trying to get back out there after what sounded like a really bad break up.

 

He was smooth, and friendly, and if they hadn’t switched to shots right after the first beer, Arthur might have taken notice of how everyone seemed to know him, how he waved and winked to people around, all the while keeping his full attention on them. He had won Lance over with his clear loyalty towards his friend, and a little help of preferring pisco over tequila; he had bonded with Gwen talking about children and how difficult it was to deal with them (Gwaine had taught music to kids right out of college, before managing to land a job at Carleon Records). Arthur couldn’t really say what had made him feel so comfortable, connected around him — the tales of his terror of a sister; the fact they supported the same team, the way he kept on gently making fun of Arthur the same way Morgana used to, in a continuous trade of small insults and annoyances, or just the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep his hands away, touching him all the time.

 

It had taken him seven rounds of drinking and Gwen and Lance announcing their intention of leaving before he invited Arthur to dance, and he couldn’t say no, not when Gwen winked at him and smiled like a proud mama. He just followed Gwaine inside the dancing room and let his body move with the music, his head a bit dazzled by drinking and the smell of his cologne, and the way Gwaine held him through the hips and followed his body’s every move. It was a bit intoxicating, and Arthur hadn’t thought twice before leaning in, pressing his mouth against the man’s. Arthur and Gwaine kissed like they had talked — a push and shove of wills, both demanding and neither surrendering, turning filthy quickly. They grinded against each other on the dancing floor, and it hadn’t taken that long before they were ready to go, Gwaine’s hardness clear through his jeans, his hands all over Arthur’s arse.

 

True to their word, Lance and Gwen had gone home; but Gwaine still made sure to check on Percy before he pulled Arthur out of the bar — and Arthur would always swear to himself that it had been this, along with his tipsy state that had softened him. They hadn’t even tried to keep their hands away from each other during the cab ride, and Arthur somehow wasn’t surprised to learn that Gwaine lived but a few blocks away from him. They had rushed in, hungry kisses, clothes dropping, and breaths short in their eagerness to get to the bed.

 

They didn’t make it there (at least for the first time).

 

The following morning, Arthur had woken up to the smell of pancakes, and Gwaine naked in the kitchen, cooking. And, yeah, maybe he had fallen in love a bit there, easy talking, great sex and breakfast before he did his first walk of shame in Camelot — not feeling ashamed at all. A couple of days later, Gwaine had rang him and asked if he wanted to grab a beer and — surprise — suggested they met at Kilgharrah’s. This time, no alcohol in his system, he had noticed how he was clearly a regular, talking animatedly with bartenders, flirting with the waitresses, before sitting in front of him. Gwaine had talked about this week and told him about how Kilgharrah had banned him from the bar for over six months for something he called “a minor offense” (which they eventually learnt involved strip darts and body shots); Arthur had laughed before he offered some random commentary on his own week; Gwaine had asked about Lance and Gwen and, surely enough, the night had ended with the two of them christening Arthur’s bed.

 

The same thing had happened a few times, before one day, not having planned anything together, Arthur, Lance and Gwen ran into Gwaine clearly trying to pull a girl at Kilgharrah’s. He had seemed happy to see Arthur, and immediately stopped putting his moves on her to talk to them. He was obviously happy at the encounter, but Arthur knew, then, without anything having been said, that it would never come to anything between them.

 

It had made him mopey for a bit, all woe and broken heart, and he had exorcised it in his writing, the script for a whole movie coming out in less than a fortnight, making his characters suffer terribly and giving it a loving, wonderfully cheesy happy ending that soothed his heart. That evening, when he walked into Kilgharrah’s and found Gwaine chatting with the bartender, he just sat next to him and talked as if it had meant nothing for him. Later that night, as first Gwen, then Percy and finally Lance arrived, they had sat together on a booth and just enjoyed being young and silly.

 

It hadn’t been hard to become friends after that. Gwaine balanced out his life, really, and stopped him from becoming a complete eremite; or being stuck as a perpetuals third-wheel for Gwen and Lance. It was good, also, to have another person around that was as flexible as he was when it came to finding people attractive, which wasn’t always a given even in the community. Arthur had heard often, in college, that he was just confused, or not ready to admit it, or in the closet — but with Gwaine’s complete lack of concern for other people’s opinions and his in-your-face way of dealing with his sexuality, he had finally grown truly comfortable with who he was. Percy’s constant presence had also helped, stopping Arthur from doing something stupid when he was too horny — or too self-destructive. By the time Percy had been offered a job in another town, six months before Uther had decided that giving a Christmas Ball was a must, Arthur barely remembered that he and Gwaine had ever been anything but friends.

 

Most days, at least. He could totally ignore the sharp pang that never failed to show up in him when he Gwaine mentioned it carelessly; even if he knew it had been the best choice he ever made, even if he knew he would’ve been miserable, even if he didn’t even believe that love, romantic, passionate, epic love was a thing that most people could or should experience — and that most of the time it was nothing but lust and infatuation. Still, it burns a bit.

 

(Incidentally, it had also been how he had ended up deciding to try things with Vivian — terrible choice — and writing about Lance and Gwen — excellent choice — and, as everything with Gwaine, it seemed to be a bit of a mixed bag of good and bad).

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur ended up taking one of Gwen’s coworkers as his date - he had met Elena a few times, and she was clearly not even remotely interested in any special relationship. It had been a complete disaster, as Elena was accident prone as no one else Arthur had ever met, but it had made them fast friends and at least that was something he could clearly do well.

 

* * *

 

 

It surprised no one that Elena and Arthur didn’t form a relationship. So he wasn’t really shocked when, ten days before the following Christmas, Elena had brought Sefa with her to their apartment. They had planned a quiet game night between the five of them (in spite of five not being the best number to play anything), and this had been the final push towards her asking Sefa out. Well. Sort of out. Sefa _had_ met them a number of times before.

 

It would’ve been a normal winter night among them, with Elena flailing, Sefa stuttering, Gwen and Lance being corny, Gwaine flirting and Arthur being, well, Arthur. He wasn’t _that_ good at describing himself. It would’ve been just perfect if Elena hadn’t walked in with a envelope in her hand.

 

“Hey, Gwen, the lady from 22B just asked me to…” she started, and Gwaine just picked the thing out of her hand, silencing her.

 

“Morgana!” he announced, before ripping it open without even asking. Arthur tried to steel himself over what would surely come next, because this was _Gwaine_ and he clearly was developing some sort of obsession with his sister’s Christmas cards. He observed the picture for a moment, not bothering to turn around and look at the message, before jumping into yet another song.

 

_“Long time ago in Camelot, so the tale says_

_Morgana Pendragon, Arthur’s sis, was boned on Christmas Day”_

 

The one consolation was that Sefa had both blushed more than he had ever imagined possible; eyes wide and not without some anger, looking between a giggling Elena and a grinning Gwaine, who kept on completely misinterpreting Mary’s Boy Child while Gwen laughed and Lance shook his head. Arthur could only grip the bridge of his nose and sigh. The friends he had, really.

 

It would be another night where he’d be saddled with Gwaine, the two of them drinking together in Kilgharrah’s and knowing that whatever their friends seemed to be so eager to find, was not for them.

 

* * *

 

 

Christmas 2011 was the first one since college to find Arthur in a relationship — and probably the first in a decade to find him in a _good_ one. Even more surprisingly, Uther had been the first to introduce them. Mithian was the only child of one of his University classmates, a man who had risen to be the head of a company that almost rivalled Uther’s own — and they had long disputed the same market share. Now, with Uther so focused in politics, he seemed to be minding less the petty squabbling that had stopped him from talking to Rodor Nemeth for decades.

 

Mithian had lived her whole life in Camelot, and it showed in the way she managed to keep the perfect pose even when faced with the unexplainable. More than pose — and a stunning face — she was reasonable and level headed even when he _knew_ other women would have made a scene. And yet — he could barely believe it — she wasn’t above doing silly things, getting drunk and sleeping on the floor with the six of them during Halloween, or getting into a burping contest with Elena; she would speak quietly to Sefa, help Gwen preparing the materials of arts and crafts for her class, hear to Lance’s unending stories and give Gwaine a one up when it came to talking dirty, and visit shootings with Arthur. She was _fun_ and _smart_ and _sexy_ , and Arthur felt ridiculously lucky, in a way most of his relationships hadn’t made him feel.

 

He was content with his lot in life. His script had been sold, and the film had been delightful, making girls coo all around and Lance had used the opportunity to propose to Gwen, in the middle of the red carpet on opening night. The beautiful pictures that had been made of them, along with the story that _they_ had been the inspiration for the movie, had helped sell it out, and Arthur could, finally, call himself successful.

 

It made him feel giddy inside, really. He didn’t even really mind, for the first time, when Gwaine had walked inside their apartment on boxing day, with a Santa Hat on his head and a picture in hand, singing about his sister yet again.

 

_“Sleigh bells ring, are you listening_

_In the card, her body’s glistening_

_A beautiful sight,_

_We’re happy tonight_

_Wanking in a summer wonderland”_

 

Arthur had to even give it to him that Morgana had walked right into this one. The picture on her card this year showed her in a red bikini, skin glowing under the sun, with a Santa hat in her head, while a male model lay by her side, also sunbathing, also in red, with a huge red bag next to him. Arthur supposed he was meant to be hot!Santa on Summer Vacations.

 

Elena had giggled, and Sefa — as usual, had joined — while Gwen, who clearly had spent far too long with his sister, asked for a repeat as she set the camera. Mithian had smiled at their antics, while Arthur cringed in listening to it again.

 

“Mate, this obsession of yours with my sister in red isn’t healthy”

 

“I would prefer her in _nude_ , if you know what I mean” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, and Gwen was still recording the exchange. Undoubtedly, it’d make the internet later on. “Come on, Arthur, it’s been _five years_ since we met, and you _still_ haven’t introduced her to me.”

 

“I’m _not_ introducing you to her ever — and I doubt she’ll want to after Gwen uploads this to Youtube.”

 

It was Gwen’s turn to laugh, the camera shaking and she finally put it down.

 

“Oh, Arthur, you _really_ don’t know your sister, do you?” she asked, shaking her head.

 

“Not as thoroughly as you!” Gwaine replied, with a lecherous grin. “Tell me, Gwen, how was it knowing Morgana _biblically_? Just so I can prepare myself.”

 

Gwen sat down in a fit of giggles, her face completely red, and the girls’ attentions went straight to her.

 

“What is this? You’ve slept with her?” Elena asked, clearly surprised.

 

“Oh” Gwen waved her hand. “It was just — you know. College lesbianism?”

 

“Except you were in school” Arthur answered, grinning. “Across the globe lesbianism, too, if I recall correctly.”

 

“Yes — there was that — and it was lovely ” she agreed, looking around, as if she expected Lance to show up at any moment and bemoan that he had never done anything like that with her.

 

“Gwen was Morgana’s _only_ ex any of us could stand — even if my father turned a blind eye to it” Arthur continued, with smile. “My mother still loves her.”

 

“Because Ygraine is the sweetest person ever” Gwen was beaming, before waving away with her hand. “This was all — well, very long ago — long before I met Lance.”

 

Arthur could see her eyes becoming little hearts, like some Japanese cartoon character. He chuckled, and Mithian patted his head.

 

“See!” complained Gwaine, shaking his head. “ _Gwen_ slept with Morgana. Why can’t I sleep with Morgana?”

 

“You slept with her _brother_ though — tons of times” Elena pointed out, and Arthur just bit his lower lip — he might have glossed the tons of times part over with Mithian.

 

“Yeah, well, so what? Gwen’s slept with both!”

 

“I didn’t _sleep_ with her!” Arthur protested, but he could feel how quiet Mithian had gone by his side.

 

“It was one kiss!” Gwen replied, at the same time. “On a _dare_! Ten years ago!”

 

Gwaine gestured as if it didn’t matter, putting one of his hands on his hips.

 

“And Morgana kicked me in the nuts for it” he completed, and Gwen made her adorable ‘I’m so sorry’ face, all with biting her lower lip and everything. “If you slept with her, I might have to kick her too — and while she _is_ a harpy, I can’t hit a girl.”

 

“You can kick _my_ nuts afterwards, I promise” Gwaine answered, grinning.

 

“Wow, you really _are_ a bit incestuous, aren’t you?” Sefa asked, her eyebrows raised.

 

“Would you like to be a bit more incestuous, Sefa?” the man asked, and it was Elena who kicked him in the nuts.

 

* * *

 

 

Mithian had broken up with him the first time they met after New Year’s.

 

“I’m sorry” she said, with  a sad smile. “I know this is — I just. It’s too much for me, I think.”

 

Arthur could only blink at her, unsure of what she was on about. He was sure they had been fine.

 

“Look — I took my time thinking, and it’s not that I’m jealous or anything — but… I don’t think you’re there yet.”

 

“There where?” he had asked, like he was one stupid character in one of his stupid stories.

 

“You’re not _ready_ yet for… Something more than casual.”

 

“I’ve been with you for _six months_ ” he reminded her, and she seemed both sorry and sure at once.

 

“Yeah. And by now — if it was _ever_ going to happen, you’d be in love with me already — and you aren’t. You are not even close to it. And to be perfectly honest, neither am I.”

 

Arthur had felt somewhat crushed, and tried to wave it all away, true as it was.

 

“Maybe, but — I don’t even — we are _great_ together” he smiled at her, trying to make her see sense. “You fit right in with everyone around me, and you’re _wonderful_ , you’re…”

 

She just shook her head, slightly.

 

“Yes — we are great, _in theory_ — but, Arthur, this is _life_ , not a _story._ I like you — I like you _a lot_ , really. You’re a great person to be with. You’re fun, gorgeous, sexy — you have the craziest friends, too — but I want _more_. More than you can give me, and certainly _more_ than what I can give you. I don’t…. I don’t want to _waste_ my twenties in a _comfortable_ relationship. I want to live — I want to experiment — and listening to you guys talk… I guess I just realised I’ve been living in _reasonable_ all the time, and that’s not what I want anymore. It can’t be what _you_ want with the things you write.”

 

Arthur snorted, because wasn’t this his most well-kept secret? That he thought it was all non-sense, and not for everyone, and not at all something he wanted for himself? That he was, in his heart, a man of _reason_ and not of emotion? That he would pass the chance, if it came to it?

 

There was little to do but to nod and accept things as they were. They wanted different things, they expected different things, and it would never work — not without them faking it, or without them giving up things they’d rather be (or not be).

 

Mithian had kissed him sweetly on the cheek and started walking out before she stopped, turned around and came back.

 

“Arthur — I _like_ you. And because I _like_ you, I’ll tell you this. This thing that you’re doing? Living with your sister’s ex, who’s engaged with your best friend, and hanging out daily with a girl you were set up with and ended up in a relationship with your ex, plus her girlfriend _and your ex_ — that’s never gonna work. There are — how to put it in a way you’ll understand? There are too many balls in the air, too many threads left unfinished, too many unfinished plots going on at once; and it’ll _never_ help you _find someone_. So — I love them, I really do, they’re all amazing — but you need to find yourself a space, too, or you’ll be forever that guy, hanging around his ex, drinking with him in the pub and watching as he picks up girl after girl, boy after boy, and never stop wondering why it can’t be you.”

 

“I’m not” Arthur gasped, really, with the absurdity of it. “I don’t think about him _that_ way!”

 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart” she answered, with a wink, turning around again.

 

“You’ve been watching too many soaps!” he said to her, but she didn’t even turn, just kept walking and raised her hand in a back wave, in a full grand entrance. Well. Leaving. Same difference.

 

Definitely she had been watching too many soaps.

 

* * *

 

 

Leon and Mithian ran into each other by total chance 4 months later, in Arthur’s favourite coffee shop. He had been, well, getting muffins and coffee for Arthur while he bemoaned his total lack of talent as a writer and suffered with not doing what he should be doing (procrastinating was the primary art form of his life, really, writing was just in second place). Mithian had been… Arthur had no idea.

 

They had greeted each other with good humour, and chatted, and eventually one thing led to another and all them led towards happily ever after.

 

 

(And it clearly proved that Coffee Shops were the New Place For Romance, too).

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t as if Arthur _wanted_ anything long term, he didn’t want to deal with expectations, silly ideas of romance (that he was completely guilty of propagating), and all the rest, so he actually spent 2012 on the pull, with Gwaine. Eventually the two of them even conceived a whole point system, which was written on the whiteboard that hang in Arthur’s living room (where it was supposed to help with _plotting_ , but he had conceded to noting the system on it after Gwaine reminded him that this was how they were plotting to conquer all of Camelot between them).

 

Gwen and Lance had decided to hold on their wedding until they had managed to not only secure an apartment, but also buy everything they needed for it; which meant they complained a bit about having to deal with the specific brand of crazy that guided him through that year. Arthur had never been very specific about what he wanted — but he completely sunk to Gwaine’s level of no parameters at all.

 

His apartment saw a parade of people — some leaving in the early morning, some leaving in the middle of the night. Men and Women. Blonds, brunettes, red-haired, really, it didn’t even matter. In pairs. Once, in a _trio_ while Gwen and Lance visited his family, and hadn’t _that_ been fun?

 

It also bothered Gwen and Lance to no end, he was sure, but they didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to play the “it’s my name on the lease” card, though, so he slowly started trying to go back to their places instead of his. The last thing he needed, he knew deep down, was to miss their dose of normal in his life.

 

Somehow their little group continued to grow — slowly, but surely. There was Arthur, then Lance&Gwen (building up to be a single entity); Sefa&Elena (a single entity in a way that only girls in love could be); Leon and Mithian, who they saw occasionally and mostly not together, Percy, who was promoted and sent back to Camelot; Gwaine (still the same, even as he hit his 30’s); Gwen’s brother Elyan, who had just finished school and moved in a part of the city with a terrible reputation but that was all he could afford as he declined any sort of help; and finally Oh-My-How-You’ve-Grown Mordred, who had just returned from one year abroad.

 

And he had grown, indeed — it was almost shocking. His shoulders had broadened, and his curls were softer than ever, his baby blue eyes crinkling with laughter as he sat with them, his face covered with the slightest hint of stubble and Gwaine had whistled upon seeing him.

 

“Looking good, Mordred!” he said, with a clap on the back. “Delectable.”

 

“Gwaine, you have no criteria” he replied, sitting down with them on Kilgharrah.

 

“I second it” said Sefa, before blushing redder than her hair. “Erm — hi. I’m Sefa. Elena’s girlfriend? Big fan.”

 

Mordred had smiled, and taken it all in good nature, while Gwen cooed over him, and Lance beamed as if he was a proud papa. They had spent a nice evening talking about his latest experiences, Arthur thanking the gods that he’d have his star back, and Gwaine flirting shamelessly.

 

And Gwaine — well, he turned the charm to max every time he wanted to seduce someone, but when he _knew_ the person, it was even worse: he went completely over the top, with whole schemes and putting himself in the spotlight and what-not.

 

So it didn’t shock Arthur at all that when they met to exchange gifts for the Secret Santa Elena and Gwen had been adamant on doing — Gwaine had been adamant on hosting — they walked into the apartment to find everything dark, and the fairy lights shining alone in sync with the music on the background, until Gwaine’s voice rang through the darkness, lightening the lamp right above him in a very dramatic fashion.

 

_“Oh your brother’s rage is frightful_

_But this fire is so delightful_

_And since he already knows_

_Let clothes go! Let clothes go! Let clothes go!_

 

_It’s my head that he’ll be chopping_

_And I’ve got your cherry for popping_

_The lights are turned way down low_

_Let clothes go! Let clothes go! Let clothes go!”_

 

They had clapped as he finished, bowing, Elena rolling with laughter on the sofa, and Mordred chuckling under his scrutiny, and Lance turned up all the lights.

 

“You didn’t even see the card!” Arthur complained, shaking his head. He had made sure to hide it on the deepest drawer of his closet as soon as it arrived.

 

“Oh, but I _have_ ” Gwaine countered, and Gwen blushed, and Arthur just hated them all, really.

 

“Really, Gwen? Really?”

 

“She posted it on my Facebook Wall!” Gwen said, not looking sorry at all. “And I love the songs — It’s a pity I didn’t record this one, I…”

 

“I did” Gwaine pipped up, immediately. “State of Art camera, I’ll send you later!”

 

“Cheers!” she said, and headed towards the kitchen with the bags she had been carrying.

 

“So, Morgana, huh?” Mordred asked, still smiling.

 

“It’s nothing” Gwaine waved the whole thing away. “A Christmas Tradition of ours” he winked. Arthur just rolled his eyes.

 

“Gwaine has been singing her praises for at least five years now” Lance said, ignoring Gwaine’s claims that it was irrelevant. “It drives Arthur mad.”

 

“I do just to annoy him, really” the man insisted, and Arthur could well believe it, if Elena hadn’t interrupted just them.

 

“Oh, yes, I bet the reason you have a full binder of every campaign she ever did on your bedroom is to _annoy_ him!”

 

It was a nice experience to see Gwaine gagging, and without words, while Mordred rolled with laughter, and Arthur was surprised by how attractive he had become all over again.

 

And if he was old enough for Sefa to consider him attractive, he was surely old enough for _Arthur_.

 

“Gwaine _pines_ for her” he said, leaning towards Mordred, and the younger man turned to him with a soft smile that was all the encouragement Arthur needed. “But it’ll _never_ be.”

 

“You’ll all see” Gwaine grumbled, crossing his arms in his chest and causing Elena to snort.

 

“Well, you _are_ a very attractive family” Mordred said, a blush tinging his cheeks. “I really can’t blame him.”

 

And Arthur was so _in_.

 

* * *

 

 

One of the things Arthur had learned since he had come to Camelot was that sleeping with people he worked with never ended well — and, of course, Vivian was the biggest showcase of _that_ , but she was far from the only case. There had been Sophia, who was a total bitch; then Isolde, who was very nice but had taken it too personally that he had fired her brother; after that Arthur had slept with Owain, one of the junior writers, and it would have been fine if it hadn’t meant the man thought he could poke and prod to each and every word Arthur wrote. Still he had slept with Geraint a few times, until the guy had decided to use the bed to push for his promotion — and then Arthur swore that he’d never do it again.

 

So, in hindsight, his idea of sleeping with Mordred had been really bad. It could never end well.

 

And yet — yet! — Mordred had been eager, and handsome, and young, and sort of adored Arthur, so it had been too much of a temptation. At the same time, he kept a completely professional behaviour when they were working, which was good. So, maybe, if Arthur had ever been romantically inclined, he might have actually started to care for Mordred — but it seemed that whatever his hands typed and what his heart felt weren't anywhere near the same thing.

 

For a while, it was good. Really good. And then, slowly but continuously, it had become not enough. Mordred never asked for anything, allowing him to go at his own pace, waiting, hoping, expecting and it broke Arthur’s heart in a way that had nothing to do with romance, and everything to do with _really liking him._ Mordred was important to Arthur, as a person, as a friend, as an actor and he didn’t want to hurt him, but he also didn’t know how to lie.

 

So one day, one brilliant summer day like any other, as the sun shone over them and they were wrapping up the filming — Arthur there, at Annis request — and sweat pouring down his back as Mordred cried and swore to Kara that they belonged together; he decided it was enough.

 

Mordred hadn’t even been surprised, he hadn’t even asked anything, he just looked at Arthur’s face, who probably gave everything away — because he could use a mask, but Mordred was a friend, and he wouldn’t play him like that, he just smiled sadly at him and nodded.

 

“Yeah. It’s for the best” he said, before hugging Arthur closely. “Kilgharrah’s on Sunday?”

 

“You bet” Arthur replied — and they just knew it was not a date, that it would never again be a date, but Mordred coming to meet all their friends as he had started doing even before Arthur decided to bed him on an impulse.

 

As fall became heavier and their filming came to an end — for the year, at least, hopefully there would be _more_ to come soon enough, a renewal, a longer project — it felt absolutely natural that all of them would be at their wrapping up party. Arthur liked partying as much as the next twenty-a-lot-of-somethings man, but he always felt somewhat wrong-fitted in those, probably because it was the one moment where he couldn’t help but deal with Vivian, who had proved a thousand times over how deeply she could hold a grudge.

 

Except that when he finally arrived — late, his hair still still wet — Vivian had _no_ mean comments for him, just a bright smile as she came up.

 

“Your friends are wonderful” she announced, before pouting a bit. “Which is surprising, I might say.”

 

“Thank you” he said, not knowing where this had come from. She had always eyed Lance and Gwen as if they were beneath her, and had never given much attention to Gwaine’s charm.

 

“They’re at the back” she said, with a nod. “You should go and see them.”

 

So he did, and found that pretty much everyone was there: Sefa had Elena on her lap, laughing at something Lance was explaining, Gwen perched on the arm of the sofa on his left, her arm around him. Mithian and Leon stood behind it, his arm around her waist, both grinning. Gwaine seemed to be chatting one of the make up artists on the side, while Mordred and Percy were busy bringing people their drinks, and Elyan seemed to be looking out, waiting for something, a small smile on the corner of his lips.

 

Arthur felt a really huge surge of warmth at them — Vivian was right, they were all sorts of awesome. Each and every one of them. He was lucky to have these people in his life. He approached them, smiling openly.

 

“The man of the hour!” Lance announced, interrupting his story, and standing to clap him on the back. “And fashionably late.”

 

“Fashionably late was over half an hour ago” disagreed Mithian, but she came close and kissed his cheek anyway, her eyes fond. “Congratulations.”

 

Leon hugged him, eyes shining with happiness, and from all of them, he was probably the one that was closest to understanding how _huge_ this was. Well, Mordred would know, of course, but it was different for him. He’d still have so much ahead — promoting and pictures and interviews; the whole nine yards. One by one, they all came to congratulate him invidiously — Gwaine using the opportunity to brag about how he _really_ knew Arthur and how it hadn’t been just a line.

 

All but Elyan, who still sat in the exact same way as before, seeming unaware of the commotion around him.

 

“What’s up with your brother?” he asked Gwen, and she giggled while Gwaine shook his head.

 

“The _other_ Princess told him she’d be back” he explained, slapping Elyan’s head. “She won’t.”

 

“Really?” Arthur asked, looking between Gwaine and Elyan. “Vivian?”

 

“How can she be even more beautiful in person?” he asked.

 

“Don’t just stand there” Lance said, pushing his back. “Ladies like to be chased. Go chase her!”

 

Arthur barked out a laugh at how quickly this had Elyan standing up,  straightening his back, and leaving.

 

He sat down on Elyan’s vacated place, accepted Percy’s shot, and gulped it at once, before Mordred ordering him to race him for them, his eyes full of mirth and any infatuation he might have felt long gone, and replaced with nothing but friendly teasing.

 

Well, all rules had an exception after all.

 

* * *

 

 

In some ways, Christmas 2013 was completely different from Christmas 2012 — none of them could fit their schedules, with Mordred filming a side project abroad; Vivian taking Elyan to her mother’s house, under Olaf’s threats; Sefa and Elena visiting their own widowed fathers; while Mithian and Leon had managed to secure a couple’s get-away until after the New Years. It was just Arthur, Gwen, Lance, Gwaine and Percival; like old times come again, before they had to abandon their booth in favour of moving tables.

 

They had agreed on spending the Christmas Eve at Kilgharrah’s, since they’d feel bad about the old man alone there at night (even knowing he’d grumble and be cryptic, and get out for a cigarette every two minutes, claiming not to feel the cold even while a thick layer of snow covered the streets) before Arthur, Lance and Gwen took the morning train to Tintagel. Arthur went straight there after his afternoon meeting with the executives about a new season of his show (long gone were the Cupids, there was nothing in this but a young couple being parted before going away to University and meeting again as young adults); and Gwen arrived not long past five; having left the gifts she received from children in the apartment. Percy arrived around seven, smiling as ever, and even wearing long sleeves for a change. Lance walked in around nine, off his shift, and was the first to truly notice that something was wrong.

 

“Where’s Gwaine?”

 

They had been drinking and talking for so long, making theories about their aged bartender and imitating his riddles that they hadn’t even noticed how late it was for him not to show up — and he had once come even while running a fever. Gwen was immediately concerned and Percy frowned, but as the only one truly sober, Lance was the quickest to call.

 

“Where did you end up and do we have to worry about possible bodies?”

 

Arthur observed while he frowned, before he pulled the phone away from his face and looked at it as if it was something alien.

 

“He told us to go upstairs” Lance said, and while none of them had any idea _how_ Gwaine had managed to get into the apartment, they were all certainly curious about it.

 

It might have been the drink that allowed them to feel surprised when, after running into the apartment, they saw it empty, save for the fairy lights that someone had turned on. Percy switched the rest of the lights on, and it was all the cue Gwaine needed, to get out of Arthur’s bedroom, in a tiny dirty Santa outfit, with a red vinyl miniskirt with white fur hemming that matched the one on the top, all with tiny straps strained over his muscled shoulders, and a black belt with a side lace _and_ high black leather boots. There was also the red cap. And of course — of course — it matched part per part the Mean Girls inspired outfit in Morgana’s latest card. The whole thing was hilarious and left nothing for imagination, and Arthur was laughing before he even started singing — and dancing.

 

_“Jingle balls, jingle balls, jingle my rocks_

_Jingle your tits, and Jingle my cock_

_Stripping and blowing, it’s lots of fun —”_

 

It was _nothing_ like his previous songs, and it probably showed on their faces, because he stopped as soon as he was facing them, as they stood. Percy was shaking with laughter, but Lance was gawping at him, Gwen was biting her lower lip, between amused and sorry, and Arthur — Arthur was glad he had stopped or he might have said something that would require punching.

 

“Was it over the line?” Gwaine asked, suddenly sheepish.

 

“Way, way, waaaay over, mate” Percy said, chuckling. Punching Percy also wouldn’t be good.

 

“The _line_ isn’t even in the horizon” Arthur said, his voice clipped.

 

“Oh” Gwaine was crestfallen, and it made Arthur feel a bit better about it. “I didn’t — I’ll shut it then. It’s a pity, really, I had a whole dance routine planned.”

 

 _That_ , on the other hand, he would want to see, but _not_ with whatever pornographic lyrics Gwaine had composed this time. He snorted, and Percy guffawed, while Gwen just kept looking at him as if he was a lost puppy she _had_ to save.

 

“I love the outfit, though” she said, as a form of consolation. “It really shows your good form.”

 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Gwaine asked, perking up again. “I bet I’d score easily on it with these legs” he turned towards Arthur, looking somewhat contrite. “Not your sister, though. I’m sorry.”

 

Arthur could do nothing but to shake his head fondly.

 

“Come on” Lance said, closing the subject. “Let’s go to Kilgharrah’s. I’ve been working all day and I could _really_ use a beer.”

 

“And there you can play the _proper_ version of Jingle Bell Rocks and show us your dance routine” Arthur continued, clapping his hand. “Let’s see how well you’ll _score_ with it.”

 

Together, they came down, Gwaine freezing his balls off in the tiny clothes, and Arthur somewhat mollified by seeing him ridiculing himself next to the jukebox.

 

(And yet, he got a girl interested easily — and made sure to introduce her friends to Arthur, before winking at him. It was hard to stay mad for long, really, knowing now that Gwaine would never really cross the line again).

 

* * *

 

 

In hindsight, Arthur should have expected something major to happen. The year had been entirely too calm, like the sea right before a storm. Nothing shocking had happened — well, nothing that could be _called_ shocking. Gwen and Lance had moved out, sure, but that had been so detailedly planned that it didn’t really count as a change. Their new house was somewhat smaller than the one they shared with Arthur, and a bit further away — but still within the same neighbourhood. The heating was terrible, but they seemed happy with it. They had also convinced Elyan to move into Lance and Gwen’s old room; assuring that it was _no_ favour and that Arthur _needed_ some company in order not to lose himself in his writing. It had been refreshing, in a way, that for the first time in _years_ , Arthur wasn’t living with a girl; and even Vivian’s constant visits were a small price to pay not to have to remember to lower the toilet seat. It did cause him to buy powerful earplugs, though.

 

Elena and Sefa had also moved in together, but it mostly changed nothing since they had been joined at the hip since before they actually started dating. Leon had confessed he planned on proposing to Mithian soon — perhaps during Valentine’s, during their romantic getaway, and Arthur was truly happy for them. Mordred was becoming a _huge_ thing, which made him both happy and paranoid, shuffling closer to the closet than ever before, and Percy had seen a really-nice-guy for a while before an amicable parting. Gwaine was still the same, and had been promoted at work — finally into the creative team he had always wished to be — which meant he currently made more than all the rest of them (save Mordred, the lucky kid). The promotion meant not only more work (and more money to waste in some truly ridiculous things, such as a life-sized model of the TARDIS to his living room), but also far more travelling than before.

 

Gwaine was supposed to be travelling — he wasn’t meant to be back in town until Boxing Day.

 

He was the furthest thing from Arthur’s mind when they walked into Kilgharrah’s three days before Christmas.

 

Arthur had a minor moment of panicking when all the lights went out as they walked inside the pub; but in a matter of seconds, a solitary light was turned back on, Gwaine under it, wearing a red button-down shirt and dark grey skinny jeans that should be forbidden, his hair perfect as ever, and _a microphone_ in his hand. No one said a word, as he started to sing a Capella — and, really, Arthur _should have known_.

 

_“I don’t want a lot for Christmas,_

_There’s just one thing I need_

_I just want to see her tits_

_Underneath the Christmas tree”_

 

Arthur was somewhat glad nobody could see the way his face burned with it, his thoughts frozen on the horror of the moment. He heard some people giggling, but he couldn’t really register it as Gwaine continued and he wished to be anywhere else.

 

_“I just wanted it on my phone_

_More than I’ve wanted to bone_

_Make my dream come true_

_All I want for Christmas is nudes”_

 

Suddenly there was the sound of drums turning, the lights went back on, the people on the bar started clapping, a whole band behind Gwaine (where had it come from? How had old, grumpy Kilgharrah allowed this?) and to top it off, canon’s exploded spreading silver paper in the air as Gwaine continued singing.

 

_“I don’t want a lot for Christmas,_

_There’s just one thing I need_

_I just want to see her tits_

_Underneath the Christmas tree_

 

_I don't need it on my stocking_

_Send me on the cyberspace_

_What would make me happy_

_Are her pics on Christmas day_

 

_I just wanted it on my phone_

_More than I’ve wanted to bone_

_Make my dream come true_

_All I want for Christmas is nudes”_

 

The thing about the lights being back on, was that it became clear to everyone that Gwaine had his eyes on them — and the whole bar seemed to have their eyes on their little group; Gwen had her camera out, filming everything for future humiliation; Lance looked even more mortified than Arthur, while Percy & Elena, the traitors, clapped and Mordred seemed to be breathless with laughter. Arthur thought there was no way this situation could get worse, but, of course, he was wrong, because _that_ was the moment his harpy of a sister decided to step from where she had been, behind Percy, and stare straight at Gwaine with her terrible smirk on.

 

On any other moment, Arthur would’ve laughed at the way Gwaine missed the cue, his jaw slacking as he stared at Morgana, there in flesh, out shocked for once; the band stopped as they noticed Gwaine’s lack of response, and everyone was staring harder. It would’ve been funny, but he knew his sister, and he knew that look, and he _knew_ it didn’t bode well for him.

 

“Well, we certainly can talk about _that”_ Morgana said, her voice flirtatious and her smirk still on.

 

How was this his life?


	2. Right Place, Right Time

So, yes, Gwaine hadn’t predicted that he would have the subject of his song present during his Christmas presentation — and, he was ready to admit, he was speechless for a minute there — but in less than 3 seconds, Morgana had proved to be far better than anything he had ever imagined.

 

That _answer_ alone would have floored him on any other day, but the smirk — oh, he would dream of it.

 

To put it nicely, of course.

 

Still, he wasn’t the sort of man to abort a mission in the midst of it, so after a smile and a wink, he had gestured the band and continued his song to the end. Morgana had remained in front of it, her face amused through the ordeal, and he barely cared that Arthur seemed to turn a weird shade of yellow watching it all. He was no amateur to rush towards her immediately when he finished, so instead he turned to thank each member of the band as their group settled in the corner booth that they usually took when visiting the pub. After he had spoken to each member, he walked towards the bar, leaning on the counter. He didn’t even need to order, the grumpy old man filling up his mug immediately.

 

“So, Kilgharrah, wasn’t it a good idea?” he asked, and the man merely looked at him, clearly unimpressed.

 

“The witch seems to have liked it” he admitted with a grunt. Clearly the man had heard far too many of Arthur’s complaints. “Which never bodes well for the likes of you.”

 

“Cheer up, will you?” Gwaine said, taking a large gulp of his drink. “It’s almost Christmas!”

 

“Yes. And you’ve somehow convinced me to host a karaoke night at my own pub. I see no cause for celebration.”

 

“It’s _packed_ with people” he replied, looking around. “I bet you’ll make a lot of money.”

 

The man grunted noncommittally. As Gwaine stood there with no intention of leaving, he raised an eyebrow.

 

“Aren’t you going to join your friends? I thought the whole point of this… _performance_ of yours wasn’t to spend your night talking to me.”

 

“What sort of noobie you take me for?” he asked, with a smile. “Can’t seem to eager, can I?”

 

“For god’s sake, you were singing her praises a few minutes ago” he said, glaring towards the young man who decided to use the karaoke for a bad rendition of “New York, New York”. “I think it’s safe to say you’ll look eager either way.”

 

He shrugged, agreeing with it, but not yet ready to move. The man looked at him with his weird, yellowish eyes that seemed to know far too much and nodded before snorting.

 

“You _care_ about what the witch thinks” Kilgharrah said, knowingly. “That is… An unexpected development.”

 

“I don’t!” Gwaine protested, and realising how childish he sounded, he tried to fix it. “I mean — sure. I _care_ because she’s gorgeous and I want to get in her pants, but it’s not as if I was at risk of having _feelings_.”

 

The old man looked at him, clearly unconvinced.

 

“Gwaine, do you know how old I am?”

 

“Actually, I’d love to know — you wouldn’t believe the amount of time we’ve spent speculating…” the man, however, ignored his answer.

 

“I’m old, Gwaine. Very old. _Ancient_ , some might say” his voice was rough and yet amused. “You may deceive the fools you call friends — never the brightest, most of them — but not me. Now, do us both a favour and go sit with them. I’m in the mood for a cigarette, not your antics, as usual. And please _try_ to keep your clothes on while inside the pub this time.”

 

Gwaine gave him his most winning smile, which was useless as usual, only leading to Kilgharrah putting a new, filled tankard in front of him, and turned to leave the bar. There was nothing to be done but go and sit with his people.

 

They had left him a chair to sit, between Elena and Mordred, while the rest of them shared the sofa. Arthur was across him, but he gave him nothing but the most cursory glance before picking up his pint and drinking heavily from it. Morgana was on his left, and had been talking animatedly to Gwen until he arrived. She raised an eyebrow at him, smirk back on with full force.

 

“So, is _this_ what Carleon is giving people’s promotion for these days?” she said, with a minute head shake. “I was expecting more.”

 

“You’ve done better, mate” agreed Percy, the traitor, who looked far too amused.

 

“Let It Snow was my favourite” announced Gwen, and Arthur groaned.

 

“It was a work of art, it was” he said, before grinning to Morgana. “I’d have done something more entertaining if I knew you were coming.”

 

“Dirty Santa helper outfit and all?” she shot back, with a smirk. “I _do_ love fishnets.”

 

“Morgana!” Arthur spluttered, and she shrugged.

“What, dear brother?” she asked, her voice deceptively sweet. “You don’t think Gwaine could pull them off?”

 

“That’s beside the point…” Arthur tried, but Elena interrupted.

 

“Percy would be better in it, though” and Morgana gave the man a slow appraisal, and for all his size, Percy was somewhat shy with people he didn’t know and blushed hard, looking decidedly away from her and at something over Lance’s shoulder. Gwaine laughed, delighted with her ways.

 

“Yes — but I don’t think he would want _me_ to see him in them” she agreed, with a side look towards Mordred. “ _Do_ tell me when you find out”.

 

Morgana winked, and Mordred gasped, and by now Percy looked like a tomato. The girls were giggling, but Arthur looked so stunned Gwaine _had to_ allow for a full belly laugh upon seeing his expression.

 

“How long has this been going on?” he asked, clearly confused, and all answers came at the same time.

 

“Months!” Elena’s voice was gleeful, at the same time Percy’s voice raised in a whine “Nothing's going on!”, “Arthur…” Mordred tried to appease his friend, while Lance rolled his eyes at it all, speaking louder than the rest.

 

“The eye fucking has been going on forever. The doing something about it is going slow.”

 

“I’m trying to play a long game here” Mordred complained, shaking his head. “Morgana, really…”

 

“This is not a long game, this is _pining_ , she’s doing you both a favour” Gwaine counteracted, and Mordred was _not_ amused.

 

“Oh, _you’re_ one to talk!” he said, gesturing towards Morgana. “You’ve been indirectly serenading her since I was _in school_!”

 

“What do you mean you’re trying a long game?” Percy asked, clearly taken aback, as Gwaine said “It’s _art_ — Morgana understands that annoying Arthur is an art form that surpasses…”

 

“You’re all ridiculous” announced Lance, standing up. “Same for next round?”

 

“Yeah” they all agreed, and Arthur tried to stand up.

 

“I’ll help you” he said, but Lance waved him back.

 

“No, _Percy_ will help me. Come on.”

 

They were all suddenly silent, properly chastised by Lance, and not envying Percy the slightest for the sort of clarification he was about to go through.

 

“Wow, Gwen, what’s wrong with him?” Mordred asked, but Gwen just shrugged.

 

“I think he’s just tired of people not saying things around here” Sefa offered, her voice soft. “It can be _really_ tiresome to watch you dance around each other and…”

“Because _that_ was _not_ what you did, right?” Gwaine asked, amused, and she blushed while Morgana leaned forwards, the low cut of her dress more visible, and Gwaine’s eyes couldn’t leave it. “We were about to tie you to together and wait for you two to figure things out, really…”

 

“It’s _not_ the same…” Elena started, but Morgana was clearly interested.

 

“ _Do_ tell!” she repeated, with a wicked smile, and Gwaine was amazed at her beauty yet again. “Was there actual bondage or was it just a big gay crisis — I _love_ both.”

 

“I can show you both later” Gwaine promised, to Arthur’s chagrin, and Morgana scoffed at him.

 

“I’ll pass that — so, Elena…”

 

Well. Not his best work anyway.

 

“At first, I didn’t know…”

 

And, honestly, he loved both of them, but he wasn’t willing to hear the same story yet again, so he decided to do something productive with his night and stood up, walking back towards the bar next to where Lance was explaining the simple facts of life to Percy and scanned the room. Some you win, some you lose.

 

* * *

 

 

Gwaine had been talking to a beautiful, petite blond girl when Morgana approached him. She clearly wasn’t bothered in the slightest that she was cramping his style, and just shuffled herself behind him, arm around his waist and head resting against his shoulder.

 

“Oh, sweetheart, who is your new friend?” she asked, her voice mocking.

 

“Morgana — this is Sarah. Sarah, this is Morgana, my best friend’s sister. She’s about to leave.”

 

“Oh, Gwaine, you wound me” Morgana said, smirking. “I thought all you wanted for Christmas was me.”

 

“Nudes” he corrected, frowning. “Nudes, not _you_.”

 

“Nudes _of_ me, then” she completed, smiling with a fake sweetness to Sarah. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

 

The girl didn’t need to be told twice, and Gwaine was thoroughly annoyed.

 

“You know, I never wanted to believe Arthur when he said you were a harpy — but the guy might have been right.”

 

“Arthur’s _never_ right” her voice was dismissive. “And I would have expected you to put more effort into it after lobbying to meet me for all those years.”

 

“You’ve made it clear you’re not interested” he said with a shrug. “Although I’d still accept those nudes — specially since you can’t insult me through them.”

 

“Do not tempt me, I might find a way to do just that” she winked, and got her drink from the bar.

 

“Morgana, I might never forgive you if you manage to ruin wanking” he announced, and she smirked, leaving once again.

 

Damn, she was infuriating.

 

* * *

 

 

It only made his resolve of not sitting back at the table stronger, the whole thing. Gwaine remained where he was, on the lookout for someone to help him ease his frustration, apart from his friends. He didn’t do it much — not anymore — but it seemed like a necessity right then. There were people he might have called, but there was no mistaking in Morgana’s challenge earlier; the way she seemed amused to be robbing him of an opportunity, and he wouldn’t take the easy way out or back down. He was not a man to do either of those things.

 

He could still see her — them — through the corner of his eye. Morgana was now sitting in the middle of the sofa, the rest of the group gathered around, and she was talking animatedly, gesturing while she told them something, and all eyes were on her. Every now and then someone would recognise her and walk closer, asking for a picture or whatever. It was like seeing a Queen, her adoring court all around her, spell-bound by each word she said. He refused to be one of them.

 

So he set his eyes on yet another woman, with a bright blue hair that contrasted with her pale skin and dark leather clothing. Her heavily painted eyes had just made contact with his — and she bit her blood red lips for a moment, clearly interested — when he was interrupted again.

 

“Really? _Her_?” Morgana’s voice was disbelieving. “She would have you for breakfast.”

 

“Funny, that’s what your brother said about you” he answered, without taking his eyes out of the girl, who was now frowning to the pair of them.

 

Morgana already had her drink in hand as she stopped by his side, observing the girl with him.

 

“She reminds me of Morgause” she said, taking a sip of her martini.

 

“I have no idea who that is” not that he cared, either, but there was something weird in Morgana’s voice.

 

“Morgause was a friend I…” as her words came to a halt, Gwaine shift his head to look at her. Morgana took no notice, eyes unseeing, still staring in the direction of the girl. “Well, Morgause… Was Morgause.”

 

“ _Friend_?” he asked, recognising full well the wistful tone. “As in the naked type?”

Morgana snorted — and how she could make even snorting seem pretty, he had no idea — and shrugged.

 

“Sometimes — but mostly a friend. I miss her.”

 

“Was she that hot?” he asked, intrigued. He had always known Morgana was as flexible as he was, but from all the stories he heard about her from various sources — Arthur, Lance, Mordred, even Gwen — she had never seemed the type to grow too attached. Sure, there had been a fair share of feelings between her and Gwen, but that was High School, and even Gwaine had been foolish enough to fall in love in High School; that she had had other significant relationships was a new information.

“No — well, sure, I suppose she is” Morgana leaned her head to one side than to the other. “But that was not — _this_ is not the part I miss. It’s just… She _got_ me, you know? It was really nice to have someone who _gets_ you.”

 

And, yeah, Gwaine understood that well — far too well — and he missed it too, with the force of a thousand suns, but there was no point in thinking about it now; it wouldn’t change anything and if he had never mentioned anything to the rest of them about his earlier life, he certainly wouldn’t say anything to Morgana. He wouldn’t give her the ammunition to use against him. He was a soft man, underneath it all, but he couldn’t do soft — not here, not now — so he aimed for careless instead.

 

“I’d have you both” he said, impersonating his inner macho, full with a lewd grin and wiggling eyebrows.

 

“If you so much as laid a finger on her, I’d kill you” she vowed, until she turned to see his face and laughed. “Oh — you were teasing me, weren’t you?”

 

“Arthur’s right — you’re scary” but the dark look in her face hadn’t made him want to go away, but to pull closer. “Now, more importantly — were you into leather? Whipping? Handcuffs?”

 

Morgana laughed, shaking her head, her eyes somewhat fond. She could see through it, then, and seemed grateful.

 

“Wouldn’t you want to know?”

 

“Oh, Morgana, give a man a hand!” he pleaded, before hearing what he had just said and both of them exploding in giggles like teenagers.

 

“If you ask so nicely…” she flashed him a dangerous smile, leaning forwards. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

There was no mistaking in the look in her eyes, or the way she purposely walked towards the door, stepping out of the pub and into the alley where Kilgharrah usually smoked a cigarette. And Gwaine was only human.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time he managed to step out too, she was leaning on the wall, smoking a cigarette. There was something truly alluring in the way she brought it to her lips, sucking slowly and exhaling smoke, the way it swirled around her head. She didn’t have her coat on, and he could get a good look in her high boots, the black jeans and the green sweater whose v cut showed a good amount of bosom. He walked towards her slowly, savouring each moment.

 

Once he stopped in front of her, she threw the thing on the ground, stepping on it decisively, and smirked.

 

“So, I heard you need a hand?”

 

“Big time” he answered, and leaned forward, trapping her between his body and the wall. He could feel the heat of her body even if they weren’t touching, and the smell of her perfume mingled with nicotine. It made him dizzy, blood rushing down fast. “Anything you can do?”

 

Morgana’s hands touched him then, popping up the button in his trousers. He sucked a breath as she pulled the zipper down, feeling his cock hardening quickly.

 

“Are you trying to get me naked?” he asked her, with a lecherous grin.

 

“For starters” she said, lunging forward and kissing him.

 

It was better than he could’ve expected.

 

* * *

 

 

Morgana’s mouth was utterly unlike her: soft, warm. Still, all things he had learnt about her personality — first hand or heard about — were clear in the way she kissed: demeaning, controlling, pushing and pulling as if it was a war she was eager to win. Their kisses didn’t fit perfectly — in reality, their styles clashed and became a mess, but Gwaine didn’t care, not when her hands moved towards his back and pulled him closer. Their bodies were flush against each other, and he allowed his arms to drop and embrace her, pulling her away from the wall and inclining his head to kiss her more.

 

He might have imagined it — considered it — but he had never truly believed it would ever happen. Morgana was beautiful, in a way very few people were, but it didn’t make him insane with need or lust. Rather, she was a delicacy he wanted to sample — long and hard as her nails scraped along his back. He splayed his fingers on her spine, caressing it slowly, a deep contrast with the frantic kissing they kept going. She tensed, bit his lower lip and pulled him closer, urging him on; but she was about to learn he was _not_ a man to be led like others.

 

He wasn’t afraid of her — neither of having or of losing.

 

After a few moments, he took a step back, and was pleased to find her face flushed and lips bruised from kissing.

 

“We should get back” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “There are people waiting for you.”

 

“I don’t care” she said, dismissive. “Come on, let’s…”

 

“No” he answered, simply. “Look, I know for a fact that the plans were to go to The Crystal Cave about…” he looked at his watch, but it was purely for show, he knew the time well enough, having checked it earlier. “Now. Come on, they’re waiting for us — and I’ve been dying to dance.”

 

Morgana pouted, leaning forwards.

 

“I thought you wanted a hand?”

 

“There are plenty there” Gwaine replied with a wink. “I couldn’t possibly tax tonight’s guest of Honour with my needs when there’s a whole group of people vying for her attention.”

 

She looked at him, seeming puzzled for a moment, and then she smirked.

“Very well” she said, before looking down with amusement. “It’s not as if it was a big problem to begin with.”

 

A lesser man might feel diminished, but Gwaine just let out a guffaw and started to close his jeans.

 

“Kilgharrah was right, you _are_ a witch.”

 

Morgana just kept her smirk on, walking away as if nothing had happened.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing was — there was part of him, a very particular part of him — that wasn’t all that sure about wanting to shag Morgana. Not the lower part — nops, this one was indeed eager to do exactly that; but the rest wondered what on Earth was he doing. It was a dangerous game to play, bedding her, and when it came far too easy, well, one was bound to be suspicious. She was _not_ a woman to be easily seduced. She _hadn’t_ even given him a chance to — and it just didn’t taste like the victory it should be to finally kiss her.

 

So, yeah, he was more than ready to shag, but not so sure _Morgana_ was a good idea, and he pushed her away and followed everyone to The Crystal Cave while pretending to be excited when he felt, well, sort of empty. She shot him a few puzzled looks, Mordred seemed to know far too much (the little shit always did, and he kept smirking that way, and the way he looked — but, _no_ , if there _was ever_ a worse idea than Morgana it would definitely be Mordred — and there was Percy to think of) and Lance seemed somewhat concerned because the damn man was ready to smell whatever lie he told. He left them to find a table and headed straight to the bar, downing five shots in a row. It left him pleasantly buzzed, coming as they had, after a few pints and no dinner. After that, he headed straight to the dancing floor, choosing a random guy to dance with.

 

It was easy, to forget it all, to lose himself in the music and the body pressed against his. It was easy to slip his hands around the hips and grind, and grin when he said he would get them a couple new drinks. It was _so_ easy, and he just let go, not turning his head to see his friends — he had missed them, but he was better away now.

“Are you running away from me?” Morgana’s voice was filled with mirth as she stepped by his side, and Gwaine didn’t even bother turning towards her.

 

“I’m _dancing_ , not _running_ ” he knew it was a weak excuse, and the man he had been dancing with was back, with a curious look towards Morgana — a tiny frown — and Gwaine could see through the corner of her eye that she was studying them and smirking.

 

“Not your size” she declared, her whisper hot against his ear.

 

“I don’t care” he answered, with a shrug and stepping ahead, curling his arm around the man’s hip.

 

“You will tomorrow” Morgana’s voice was knowing, and damn her. How could she read him so well after just a few hours?

 

Maybe Arthur had been right all along — and wouldn’t _that_ be a first?

 

(Then again Arthur — like Merlin — had always been incredibly perceptive about everyone else while being clueless to what concerned _him_ — but no, he wasn’t going to think about Merlin now, he was going to drink and dance and grind and let go).

 

So he kept on doing just that, and picked up the dancing guy in spite of previous warnings — Randall, Ranulf, whatever was his name — and took him home.

 

 _This_ was something he knew how to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Gwaine did wake up the following morning to find himself sharing a bed with a man he had very little recollection of sleeping with and an incredible headache, and while the first had been known to happen from time to time, the second was unusual. He made short work of kicking the man out and proceeded to spend the day pretending it hadn’t happened. He lazed around for a bit, before smarting up and going to work, as usual.

 

It was a good thing his hours were flexible, and that most people were already more into celebrating Christmas than working.

 

So when Gwen called, babbling excitedly about how they were going to have a Game Night, he considered passing it — but then, I was almost as if he could see Morgana standing in front of him, smirking.

 

“Running away from me?”

 

No, he was going and he was going to show her that Gwaine didn’t run from anything.

 

* * *

 

 

Gwaine was _not_ amused.

 

Which, in itself, was an oddity. He was frequently amused, even when he was the butt of jokes. He was fine with teasing. Even hard teasing. Even piling on him. He was fine with pranks. He was fine with being screwed up purposefully. But _this_ — this was _much, much worse_.

 

Because clearly it hadn’t been intentional, it was just that — well. Everyone else was coupled up, weren’t they? Lance & Gwen, Elena & Freya, Elyan & Vivian, Arthur & Vivian’s equally vapid friend with a ridiculous trendy name (Lini? Lani? Lamia?)  which he had shagged last week, Mordred & soon to be his Percy. But Gwaine — Gwaine was in his natural state, stag, so he _had_ to be Morgana’s pair for whatever game they were playing.

 

He even tried calling up Leon to take his place, and while they _had_ said they’d come over after dinner, it still didn’t help; because even _Leon_ was paired up, and it was clear from the way he spoke he had _no intention_ of showing up without Mithian. In hindsight, he probably should’ve warned Arthur before inviting them, they had worked around their issues, but the huge amount of exes together were bound to make Mithian touchy.

 

… Well, no reason to be miserable alone, was it?

 

And worse — worse than _anything_ else — was that they were actually a _perfect_ pair. They had used the exact same strategy for Clue, and conquered the world together in Risk without a single hitch, only to proceed to wipe the floor with the other pairs when they changed to charades.

 

“Oh — come _on_ , Lance, we’ve been together for _a decade_!” complained Gwen, when her fiance once again failed to get her movie right.

 

Gwaine knew what she was trying to say, of course, because Morgana had figured it out in 15 seconds flat and whispered to him. People were laughing, and Gwen was trying to give him an intimidating look — which worked on her husband-to-be — while the rest thought that her tiny hands on her tiny hips just made the scene funnier than before.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m just _rubbish_ at this”

 

“Arthur and Lamia have more points than us!” she complained, sitting down while the mentioned girl stood. “And they’ve only known each other for, like, five minutes!” Gwen bit her lower lip, ripping another round of laughter from Morgana next to him, and turned towards the girl. “No offence.”

 

“None taken” Arthur replied, good naturedly even if his pair seemed to disagree.

“They’ve actually known each other longer than me and Gwaine” Morgana pipped up, and Gwen just shrugged.

 

“Yeah — but he has pined after you for years” Morgana leaned her head to the side with a small frown & pout combination that still somehow conveyed agreement and made her look adorable.

 

“I have not _pined_!” He protested, but he _knew_ it was useless even as he was saying it.

 

“You sort of did” Lance backed her up, and Gwen patted him affectionately, all frustration forgotten.

 

“Plus” Gwen continued, as if the two of them hadn’t spoken at all while Elena and Sefa giggled in explaining to Lamia what she was supposed to mime, “you’re cut from the same cloth, so _of course_ you’d get each other.”

 

“Hey!” this time Morgana was the one affronted by her declaration. “I’m nothing like…”

 

“You’re totally the same” Arthur declared, putting down his beer. “If you two ever reproduced, I fear for the word. Now, shut up, you’re getting in the way of the game.”

 

Morgana crossed her arms, but didn’t say anything else, and Gwaine pretended the whole conversation had never happened at all. They watched while the newly matched couple tried and failed to get in sync and understand each other. The following rounds went much the same, and it was Gwaine’s turn to mime when the doorbell rang. Percy stood up to open the door and Gwaine completely ignored the activity behind him as he kept trying to make Morgana grasp “Sunset Boulevard”, but the way she looked behind him, her eyes growing and her jaw tightening (so much like Arthur in this gesture) gave him pause. She quickly looked back towards Gwaine, but he was now too distracted to properly pay interpret what he was supposed to do and they lost their first round since they had started, to everyone’s cheers. Morgana stood up with a sharp smile, greeting Leon and Mithian with a nod and heading towards the kitchen.

 

And, really, Gwaine should’ve ignored it, but he just _couldn’t_ control his feet as they led him towards her, the thick walls muffling the sounds of their rather large group on the living room. He found her ripping through shreds the labels of a beer bottle that she hadn’t even opened. He didn’t say anything at first, just picking it up and popping it open for her.

 

“Thanks” she muttered, taking a sip distractedly.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked, helping himself to more beer. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

Morgana seemed to finally notice his presence, her eyes focusing on him for a second, her expression blank.

 

“Have you _ever_ wondered why I _never_ come to Camelot?” she asked, looking away again.

 

“Often” he said, and shrugged. “But, you know, I figured it was a work thing.”

 

Morgana shook her head.

 

“No — actually, there’s _plenty_ of work in Camelot; it’s one of the main places to _be_ in my area, but — I avoid it like the plague. I haven’t set foot in here for more than 24 hours in… _hell_ , half a decade.” She drank deeply from her bottle before continuing. “You know, I was the one to find this apartment for them — I used to live right across the street, on that little building beside Kilgharrah’s.”

 

“Where Mordred lives now” Gwaine knew the place, he had even crashed there once or twice. It was a rather nice Victorian house that had been divided in two spacious apartments. Mordred lived on the top floor, that also had a lovely terrace that had clearly been added by the owner.

 

“Yeah — it’s mine. Well, I mean, the _house_ is mine, so I suppose Mordred lives in _part_ of it.”

 

“It’s beautiful” he said, honestly, because it was.

 

“It is” she agreed, airily. “I loved it. It is the one place I felt at home — I miss it all the time.”

 

“So why didn’t you keep it?” he asked, half because he _wanted_ to know and half because he didn’t know what else he could possibly say.

 

Morgana shrugged.

 

“It’s just… Complicated” she sighed deeply. “It’s best to avoid it, normally. I wouldn’t — well. I think I just wasn’t expecting to run into him.”

 

Gwaine frowned for a second, before his mind made the connection.

 

“Leon?” he asked, bewildered. “Really? What could he possibly have…”

 

The guilt in her expression was answer enough, and the few bits he had grasped here and there.

 

“What? You broke his heart in back in School and _still_ can’t face him?”

 

Morgana scoffed, drinking again and shaking her head.

 

“I don’t expect you to understand — you’re so used to breaking hearts…”

 

“… as if you aren’t” Gwaine sneered and she snorted but didn’t continue her sentence.

 

“Well — yeah. But it was… Different. With Leon. It’s not about school — not that it was a picnic, mind you, but — no, _later_ it was much worse.”

 

“Later?” he prompted. “I’ve never heard anything about later.”

 

“I doubt he _says_ anything about later — it was just. A total and complete disaster. I mean” she shook her head and raised her body with her hands to sit on the counter. “He lived downstairs, at first, you know? And then — well. Sometimes it’s just so… _easy_ and I… I never thought that four years later he’d still… Or again, I don’t know — it was just… brutal. I came home one day and he was — he had a _ring_. I flipped. The next day I signed up for a six-month contract in Japan and never really came back.”

 

She was looking through him, clearly into the past.

 

“Are you telling me you didn’t have _any_ contact with him in, what, nine years?”

Morgana snorted.

 

“Seven — he _was_ at my father’s first Christmas ball — but… Basically, yes. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

 

Gwaine was about to say yes — that it was totally and utterly ridiculous, but then he thought about his _own_ life and shook his head.

 

“I don’t know — it might have been better for him. Sometimes… Sometimes it hurts so much. It’s better having _too much_ time than too little.”

 

Morgana turned towards him, giving him one of those looks that seemed to see deep into his soul and nodded slowly.

 

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I just…”

 

“You’re not seducing my sister over my kitchen counter, are you, Gwaine?” Arthur’s voice floated, loud and amused as he approached the place, breaking the moment.

Gwaine strode to the door, allowing her a few more seconds to recompose herself as he grinned and joked as if nothing had happened.

 

“Oh, Arthur, but _how_ could I resist defiling such pristine whiteness?”

 

The laughter drowned the sound of the smack she gave his head.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is, it really put Gwaine in a terrible position because, suddenly, he sort of _cared_. And he wasn’t supposed to care, ever, he had learnt the hard way that caring led nowhere. He surely could _understand_ or _sympathise_ , but not _care_.

 

And he really would’ve liked to know how to turn it off. Since he didn’t know, he did the next best thing.

 

Ignored it until it went away.

 

* * *

 

 

Ignoring it until it went away meant completely skipping the group outing on the 23rd of December, but it was good to stay in once in awhile. He managed to work until later, and produce the first recording of a tune that had been stuck in his head for days. He ordered pizza and watched TV, and completely ignored all notifications on his phone. He fell asleep in his sofa, around two in the morning, after catching up with a James Bond marathon on cable. It took him over two hours to wake up, disoriented at the explosions on the big screen, before he turned it off and went to his bed.

 

Thing was, Gwaine was _not_ good at staying in. It made him anxious, and lonely, so on Christmas Eve he was brimming with energy and wanted nothing more than to burn through it. He called Percy before lunch rolled around, asking about the plans for the evening — and, jackpot! They had voted to hitting The Isle of the Blessed, a trendy — if straight — club in town; and nothing sounded better than that to him. Drinking, dancing, flirting: exactly what he needed to face yet another Christmas away from his family; even if he knew it was for the best.

 

So, as the clock struck five, he was out, heading to his house, to treat himself to a good, long bath and time to trim and spoil himself. The guys would tease him about it, sometimes, but he didn’t care in the slightest. It wasn’t as if he had any peculiar straight idea of masculinity to cater to. They had voted for skipping the bar, but Gwaine was still ready earlier than the rest, to he went to Kilgharrah’s to wait for them. In his somewhat troubled, somewhat partying state of mind, he went straight for shots, settling for tequila since the old man refused to have pisco around since the skidding disaster of ‘09. Still, he poured it somewhat judgmentally, specially after he asked for the fifth dose.

 

“Slow down” Kilgharrah chided. “I thought you kids had plans for the night?”

 

“Getting plastered is part of the plan” Gwaine told him, but the old man just raised an eyebrow at that, unimpressed.

 

Mordred walked in not five minutes later, his face frowning in annoyance.

 

“Come on — we’ve been _calling you_.”

 

“I’ve been waiting for ages!” he told him, although it couldn’t have been much more than half an hour.

 

“Found him” Mordred said, pulling him outside where most of them was filling in cabs. “Already tipsy, it seems.”

 

“Gwaine!” Gwen’s voice was a mix of amused, concerned and scolding, and he grinned at her.

 

“Nah — I’m fine. Just five shots. It’ll need much more to get me tipsy.”

 

He couldn’t see Morgana anywhere — not that he was looking — but the first two cabs had already left, and only them and Lance remained for the last round. They got a cab shortly after that, and soon enough, they were entering the club. _Not_ so soon that Gwaine still felt any alcohol in his system. He let the others guide him to the table, hoping to only say hello before he was off to the bar and the dance floor, when he found out that someone had ordered six pack worth of Pisco.

 

“My threat!” Morgana said, gesturing to the bottles. “Consider it a Christmas gift!”

 

Gwaine just looked at her, and the words poured out straight from his heart.

 

“Have I said before that you are the woman of my dreams?” he asked, and they laughed. He kissed her loudly on the cheek, before getting one of the bottles and drinking straight from it.

 

“Gross” Sefa said, twisting her nose, and he laughed.

 

“Just claiming my share” he told her, and soon they were all drinking, and laughing and talking and he had _really_ missed them, although it had barely been two days since they had last met. Percy and Mordred, he noticed, were still too shy in their flirting, and Mithian, Morgana and Gwen were getting on like a house on fire — much to Leon’s chagrin.

 

He felt himself growing a bit dizzy, and mostly restless, so he nudged Elena.

 

“Let’s go dance!” he told her, and as Sefa waved them away, they walked to the middle of the mass of moving bodies.

 

Elena was a disaster on the dance floor, but he had always known that — it was half of the fun. She flailed a lot, and elbowed people, stepping on their feet, and Gwaine could only laugh, holding her waist to keep her from toppling, and dancing. He lost track of time as they moved, until Sefa nudged him and stole her girlfriend away. Mordred, Percival, Arthur and Morgana were around him now, and Gwaine took turns dancing with all the boys, but purposefully avoided her. She was an unknown space, something he wasn’t sure he could navigate, not the way he would have wanted to.

It was barely past one when Lance and Gwen came to say their goodbyes — old married couple that they were — and Leon and Mithian followed soon. Gwaine’s bottle was long since drunk, and he walked to the bar with Mordred, thirsty and wanting more.

 

“When are you going to make a move already?” he asked the younger man, and he grinned.

 

“When will you?” he shot back, smirking.

 

“Don’t deflect” Gwaine said, stopping to order his drink to the bartender with a dazzling smile and a tap on the bar. “If you keep on waiting, someone will take him home before you do.”

 

Mordred did a half-shrug thing, as if it didn’t really matter.

 

“I don’t want to _sleep_ with him, Gwaine” Mordred explained, with a sigh. “I mean — sure. But it’s not always just about sex.”

 

Mordred turned around, his whisky in hand and left. It made Gwaine a bit angry, because, _sure_ he knew it was more than that, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t at risk of losing Percy for good. They had been best friends through most of the last decade, much like Arthur and Lance, and if _anyone_ knew what a catch Percy was, it was Gwaine. He also knew that Percy was scared of trying anything with people he knew too well for fear of failure, and that he may as well plunge headfirst into a romance just because it was safer than the other option. He had wanted to be a good friend, but it seemed that he couldn’t win.

 

Downing his drink at once, Gwaine ordered another before going back to the dance floor. He found Arthur dancing closely with some random girl who seemed just about to eat him, and Morgana made a gagging face at him as she danced with Mordred that made him laugh. Percy, as predicted, had found someone to dance with too and, left alone, Gwaine decided it was better to find someone else to dance too.

He danced with guys, he danced with girls, never taking it further. No special reason, save that he was enjoying the moment to much to want to stop. He _did_ kiss one particularly insistent guy, but it was a sloppy thing, and his lack of interest even in the midst of kissing had pushed him away. Gwaine allowed himself to get lost in the dancing, until Percival’s massive form showed up in front of him, tapping his shoulder.

 

“I’m leaving” his friend yelled, and Gwaine got a full view of the guy holding his hips. “Arthur’s gone too, with some girl. I can’t find Mordred and Morgana. Are you going to be alright?”

 

Gwaine just nodded, waving him away.

 

“Go have fun!” he told Percy. “He seems perky.”

 

“And bendy, too” his friend added with a wink and a blush. “See you tomorrow, mate.”

 

Gwaine didn’t bother to look for Mordred or Morgana, he just went on as the dance floor clearly started to get empty, going back for more drinks from time to time, and just when they turned on the lights to usher everyone out, did he notice how late it was. Looking around, he was startled to see that only thirty people or so were around — and none of his friends, that he could see. As the security ushered him to the cloakroom to get his overcoat back, he found himself next to a dark haired woman, that turned to look at him after a moment.

 

“You’re still here!” Morgana said, seeming surprised.

 

“And you!” he replied, smiling and at this point, he could not remember why he had been so adamant at _not_ wanting to talk to her.

 

“I thought you had left with some hot thing” she winked, and he laughed as they stepped into the cold air.

 

“Nah” he said, waving the idea away with his hand. “Just dancing.”

 

Morgana smirked and leaned against the lamppost in front of the club, fishing her cigarette pack from her long coat’s pocket and lightening it. Still not sure about what he was going, Gwaine stopped in front of her.

 

“Want one?” she offered, and although he didn’t really smoke, Gwaine accepted.

 

* * *

 

 

Gwaine had _no idea_ how that had started, but they were kissing. They were kissing — _deeply, passionately, hard_ — and his mind was more than a bit hazy on how exactly _this_ had come to be. Still; there was no point in wondering; what was important was that they kept doing it. He pulled Morgana closer to him, his arms around her, his hands splayed on her back. She was warm against the chilly air of the town, and she licked his mouth quickly, her hands gripping his shoulders. There was no mistaking in the lust of her movement, and it made his blood run hot.

He didn’t dare go further than that, more than kissing and caressing her back, her shoulders, her nape. He ran his hand through her hair, and she sighed and leaned her neck, allowing him to kiss it. Something about it — maybe his beard, maybe his lips — made her shiver and moan lowly in his ear. All the blood left his brain with the sound,  rushing south, and he used her hair to pull her face in position for another kiss — once more, with feeling. Tongues slid together messily, lips dragging, and she bit his jaw with a sigh that made him consider that for all that it was merely a kiss, they were very likely to be arrested for public indecency.

 

The sun was beginning to come out now, as he stopped snogging her and spoke, his voice rough with lust.

 

“Do you want to go back to mine?”

 

Morgana eyed him for a moment, between amused and unsure. Gwaine waited, his heart beating fast in both wanting her and wanting her to be completely sure of what she was doing, in spite of the fact they were both clearly plastered beyond anything he had done before.

 

She turned her head slightly to the side.

 

"What the hell? Sure. Let's go — quick, before I change my mind."

 

Gwaine grinned when he listened to it, and brought his fingers to his lips to hail a cab. Magically —  because things seemed to be working his way now, in the way the gods always seemed to protect the drunk, one showed up immediately, pulling next to them.

 

"Quick enough?" he asked her with a wink, and she raised her eyebrow, unimpressed.

 

"Still gotta get me there, tiger" Morgana reminded him, getting inside.

 

Gwaine wasted no time in following her, and merely spit his address before attaching himself to her lips again. Still, even if it was now a sure thing, it seemed like a matter of honour that he was *not* going to do anything particularly sexy now. It had been nothing but kisses that had brought them here, it would have to suffice the rest of the way.

 

He nipped at her earlobe, licking it slightly, when she sighed against him.

 

"How did you even manage to do this —  avoid me for days — and get me here with you?" she asked, and it was probably a rhetorical thing, but his drunk brain was answering before he could process it, the full force of his cockiness in it.

 

"Well —  you know —  I _try_ to be a nice guy, I do, but somehow I always become that guy who ends up his night with my head between your legs."

 

Morgana rewarded that with a loud laugh and a slap, before shaking her head -- amused and fond.

 

"Well —  not today, champ. Not with me. Other things you may get, but your head between my legs? That's **not** a thing that is happening."

 

He laughed at her too, and as the cab stopped in front of his building, he threw a few notes to the driver and left, pulling her by his hand. Gwaine needed to try twice before he could get to the correct button to call the elevator, but Morgana didn't seem to care, caressing his back with her hands, running her nails on it, and it certainly wasn't helping. As they walked inside, he considered the option of raising her with his arms and have her then and there - but, no. No, he was going to do it right.

 

Which meant disengaging himself from her to open the door of his flat, and he even considered offering the tour, but Morgana was having none of it. She seemed to know what direction to take, and walked right into his bedroom. She was focused, and nothing seemed to distract her from it, pushing him into the place and slamming the door shut. Still, Gwaine needed but one look at her trying to get out of her heels, needing to lean against the wall to manage it, to know she was as drunk as he felt.

He used his hand for leverage as he did the same thing, getting his shirt off, too, and kissing her again and again, hands inside her hair, as she looked up to face him. Now that they were here, he allowed his fingers to stray, to trace the curve of her ass and squeeze it in bringing her closer. Morgana rubbed herself against his erection, and he was completely gone for it, completely done.

 

All restrain left him as her hands lowered to his pants, and he didn't even want to focus on it, he just kept kissing and kissing, feeling her. His hands moved up, around her waist, to the sides of her body, over but never touching the boobs he had sang about so often. He feared he would be done the moment he did so, and now, as she lowered his zipper and pulled down his pants, was not the time for it.

Gwaine stepped out of it and took a deep breath, coming back to kiss her yet again. Their kiss still didn't match, but it was not an issue anymore, not when they were being moved by lust and blind to anything but the feeling of hands on skin. Finally, he pulled up her lace shirt, only to find out she was wearing nothing underneath. It made his cock twitch, and he took a second to just look.

 

"According to your expectations?" she asked, and it was meant to sound teasing, but there was a tiny hint of vulnerability on it.

 

"Exceeding them, really" he answered, kindly, and traced the area around them with his finger. It was the only point where their bodies touched, and her breath was caught in his throat. He had heard the sound a number of times in his life, but hardly ever had it sounded as sweet.

 

He kept doing it, drawing it, moving ever closer without ever touching her nipples, and Morgana snorted at him.

 

"Tease" she said, and he laughed.

 

"Just enjoy it" he told her, before moving completely away and pinching her hip and leaning for a kiss.

 

They kissed more, as he opened up her jeans, pulling it down. It was not easy, together they managed to take it away. It was time for more than that, and he pulled her close and led her to bed. Morgana laughed as she fell on it, her dark hair spread against the red sheets and she was beautiful — and wonderful — and Gwaine was about to have her.

 

He lowered himself, kissing her for the last time in a while, and her legs opened, wrapping around his hips and bringing him closer. Even drunk, it was clear that she had her ways and he sighed before kissing her neck, her shoulders, lower and lower, until he was finally facing her right nipple, and he licked it as lightly as he could, and was rewarded with her sight. Gwaine put himself to work on it, sucking and licking, his hands coming lower on her body and pulling down her panties. It was  a beautiful lace thing, he had noticed, but now he just wanted it gone — there were places he wanted to be.

 

Gwaine kept kissing down, through her belly, down her hips, and he was just about to reach his goal when Morgana laughed and pulled his head through his hair.

"Not today, tiger" she said, and he laughed. He should have known.

 

"Your loss" he said, but she didn't seem to mind it.

 

He went back to kissing, coming up now, until he could lavish attention on her left nipple. Morgana was moaning, loudly, and the sound was heavenly. He was horny, but it was almost irrelevant now, almost nothing compared to the wonder that was giving her pleasure. **This** was somehow more important, right then, than his own release. His fingers, on the other hand, she allowed to come down and touch her between her legs, feeling every fold and every part of skin he could, circling slowly around her clitoris as she moaned louder, as he came up to kiss her again and her legs pulled him closer. Gwaine allowed his cock to rub against her, feeling the wetness of her body, the way it trembled under his touch.

 

Had he ever _wanted_ that much that way? In a slow burn?

 

But maybe that was the alcohol talking. He sat up, getting a condom from his bedside table, and for a moment, Morgana seemed to not even notice him getting away, her breathing still heavy, her eyes closed for a second before she stared straight at him.

 

“Come on” she whispered, and he was ready to comply.

 

 _This_ was the great thing about women — the way he just _slid_ in, easily. Morgana was tight and hot, her legs still working on pulling him closer, her hands scratching his back as she let out a low moan. A second, and he was all in, moving with her, on her, and it was heaven. As he heard her becoming more enthusiastic, he picked up his pace, until she was shouting, calling for a higher power, calling for more, but never his name. He kept his pace as she rode on the wave of her orgasm, and eased it to almost a stop as she came back from it, breathing heavily.

 

Maybe she would want to stop now — some women were like this, and he wouldn’t put it past Morgana.

 

Her green eyes snapped open again, and she smirked.

 

“Keep on” she said, biting his ear, and he didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He pulled himself almost out before slamming in again and again, as deep as he could, and soon she was being vocal again, pulling his hair, biting his shoulder to stop herself from yelling, and it seemed incredible how quickly and how easily it was for them to get to this state. He tasted the sweat in her neck as she got impatient and started to move towards him, meeting his thrust, until she was crying out again, and again, and it seemed as if it never ended.

 

Gwaine didn’t want it to end — ever — but he wasn’t sure how long he could keep up like this. Pulling out, he laid down on the bed.

 

“Can we switch a bit?” he asked, and Morgana gave him a pout.

 

“Not in the mood to fuck you” she answered, sitting up and he laughed.

 

“Not what I meant” he held her hips and pulled her to his lap, and she was eager to comply, striding his lap and sinking down in a fluid motion that had his breath hitching.

 

Morgana rode him as she did everything else — playfully, teasingly. She started out slow, rising until he was almost out of her body, coming back inch by painful inch. It was a sight to behold, her hair gone wild, her smirk, her breasts shaking with the movement. He raised his hand to touch it, and she threw her head back, in pleasure, until she was fully seated. She changed her pattern, then, prodding him to move to a more sitting position, before she started again, forwards and backwards, shamelessly rubbing her clitoris in his lower belly and moaning, her eyes closed all the time, and her hands on the headboard. It was a deliciously dirty feeling, as if he wasn’t even there, as he wasn’t even a _person,_ but just something she was using to have her pleasure. She kept going until she made herself come, and even then she didn’t open her eyes, just continuing, hips moving in different patterns — to the sides, in small circles, in wider circles — whatever worked for her, regardless of his response. She wouldn’t open her eyes, and he couldn’t close his, drinking her figure, every second of it.

 

He lost count of how many times she had squeezed him, how many times she had come when she finally seemed to come into herself and open her eyes, blinking at the sunlight that started to come through the open curtains, and he smiled at her.

“Oh” she said, before smirking at him. “Having fun?”

 

“Yes — and I don’t need to ask about you.”

 

Morgana laughed, her head thrown back, and he could feel it — delicious as she her whole body shook. She grinned upon seeing his open mouth, and licked it before raising herself on her knees and turning around. She stopped, mid-way, and Gwaine could see her curious expression reflected on the mirrored door of his wardrobe.

 

“Was this here all the time?” she asked, and it was his turn to laugh, because, really, how had she _missed it?_

 

“Is it a problem?” he asked, as she sat back, and she just laughed.

 

“Oh, yes, _big one_ ” she answered, before crawling back and striding his lap again. She leaned against Gwaine’s chest, and pulled his hands to cup her breasts under her watch. He pinched her nipples, and she hissed. He smiled to her through the mirror, and she returned, her face wicked as she curled her hand around his cock, holding it in place, before guiding it back in.

 

It wasn’t the ideal position — the way she leaned back meant very little got in, still, the visual stimulus was worth it. Morgana seemed to be hypnotised by the way his cock entered her, legs spread wide, and Gwaine didn’t even know what to watch — her face clouded with lust as if they hadn’t been at it for a while, their joint bodies, his hands still on her breasts. Morgana was in no way shy (and he hadn’t expected her to be), as she pulled his right hand from its place and lowered it to her clitoris. He didn’t need any more instructions, but she gave them anyway.

 

“Show me your musician hands” she told him.

 

He complied to the best of his abilities, and she moaned over him, hips jerking backwards, eyes open now even as she came, watching every second of it. It was almost more than he could handle, and, it seemed, enough for her. Leaning forward, she gripped his legs, pushing back in snaps that left him out of breath. He ran his hand through Morgana’s back, held her waist, and moved forward in tandem with her — once, twice, and her voice echoed loudly through the room for a moment, until he needed to take a break — a moment — before he came. Morgana used the opportunity to move forward, putting her weight on her arms and resting, and he was completely out. Sliding from under her, Gwaine repositioned her until her weight was in her knees, before lowered himself, kissing all along her back and slid back inside.

 

Morgana moaned even more loudly than before, and pushed back, and he couldn’t help himself, going for long, deep thrusts, holding her hips so hard that it’d surely bruise, the sounds from her throat coming out raw now, but still music to his ears and he couldn’t see, hear or feel anything but her, as she tightened around him one last time in a stream of gasps. He managed to hold on, but barely, moving sharply and continuously as she got her breath back, and Morgana turned his head to him, seeming a bit out of it, as if everything had suddenly caught up with her.

 

“I’m tired now” she complained, and Gwaine let go of her.

 

Morgana fell as if he had been the only thing holding her up, and was asleep faster than he could sit. Gwaine snorted, amused by it in spite of any frustration his body might have, and stood up to get rid of the condom. When he came back, she hadn’t moved one inch — spread in the bed like some kinky star fish. Gwaine grinned at the image, and force moved her until she had her head on the pillow, before he laid down by her side and pulled the duvet over their naked bodies.

 


	3. As Fast As She Can

This was _not_ her bed.

 

This was a weird, somewhat cold, with a strange mattress bed.

 

But — of course it wasn’t her bed, she was staying at Arthur’s.

 

Correction — this was _not_ Arthur’s bed either. And there was an arm around her waist.

 

Still confused, Morgana blinked her eyes open. She could see the entrance to an en suite, but she didn’t recognise it. Nothing gave her a clue of her location, everything was very nondescript. It could be a hotel anywhere in the world.

 

She looked down on the arm around her — near her skin, it looked tanned. And a bit hairy, with big hands and large fingers. A man’s arm. She didn’t even know _how long_ it had been since she had slept with a man.

 

What had she done?

 

With a deep breath for courage, she turned around slowly, trying to find out who this was — and even with all the hair covering the face, she could tell it was Gwaine.

 

Morgana relaxed a bit — Gwaine was _not_ the worst thing that could have happened, and if she recalled it correctly, she had been drunk off her ass the day before. At least she hadn’t gone to some complete stranger’s house and got killed. What _was_ weird was the whole arm-around-her-thing, and as she settled back down, he had leaned forward and nuzzled her nape before resting his forehead against it. She would never have pegged him down as the cuddling his one-night-stands type.

 

Closing her eyes again, she tried to recall anything about the night before and, soon, the flashes came — chaotic, most meaningless — Sefa’s low sweater that really showed off her breasts; Leon’s grim face as she talked to Mithian — who was so beautiful, and funny, and she really needed to get away before she started hitting on her — Mordred, his head thrown back, laughing at something on the dance floor. Arthur almost fucking a girl then and there, before she waved him home. Gwaine’s smile as he put on his coat, as if he was glad to see her. Him coughing when he tried to suck on the cigarette, and she explaining it to him. Something of a discussion on the merits of blow jobs. They had been kissing, soon, and he must have asked her back to his, because the next thing she recalled was them on a cab him telling her that he _tried_ to be a nice guy.

 

A flash of an elevator. A door opening. Walking inside.

 

* * *

 

 

Morgana was being kissed against the wall again, and then Gwaine took a minimum step back, hand still next to her head, and started to take off his shoes. Something like panic started to grown in her at that moment.

 

 _He’s taking off his shoes!_ She thought to herself, frantic. _He’s taking off his shoes —_ now _I’ll have to sleep with him! There is no going back from this!_

 

* * *

 

 

The memory of the thought made her snort at her drunk self, and Gwaine’s arm tightened around her. Morgana remembered him watching her topless, and feeling both exposed and comfortable under his watch, under his touch. It had been at once sweet and lusty. She remembered wanting it — wanting it so bad it hurt — and pleasure coming in waves although she couldn’t say what they had done or not.

 

* * *

 

 

She was somewhat inclined forward, looking at the sun starting to show through the window, and it was _really incredible_ — it must be a building only for people who were as shameless as Gwaine, because she could hear someone moaning, loudly. Jesus Christ, whoever this was, it must be having the time of their lives, because there was _no_ faking this well.

 

Her throat scratched and hurt and she tried to suck a deep breath, but it burned.

 

 _She was the one moaning_.

 

Oh god, she’d never live that one down.

 

* * *

 

 

Giggling at her own foolishness seemed to wake Gwaine up. He was a bit bleary eyed, but smiled at her, somewhat sweet. He said nothing, but nuzzled at her ear, and nipped it, and with a pang of guilt she remembered that while she had had more than her fair share of fun, _he_ hadn’t come. It was not that she believed she _owed_ him anything — far from that — but it seemed a pity that he wouldn’t have gotten even a single orgasm while giving her what was probably the best straight sex she had ever had.

 

Scratch that. The best sex she had ever had, regardless of gender or orientation. It had just clicked.

 

Morgana smiled back at him, and placed a soft kiss on his beard covered chin. Somehow, although this was far from the first time she woke up next to someone unexpected, she didn’t think the general protocol applied here. Rushing to leave would probably just make things more awkward considering they’d be together again in a few hours, with the whole group of his friends.

 

Gwaine used the arm around her to bring her closer to him, and she could feel his morning wood against her leg. He rose his head, rubbing his chin on her neck, and it gave her shivers, before kissing it. It was probably a bad idea, but she couldn’t stop him, her body pliant as he kissed her shoulders and glided his lower lip against her shoulder blades. She caressed his hair — soft, shiny, even after everything — and let him keep on caressing her, his hands moving through her hips and tights as his mouth opened around her nipple. Morgana couldn’t help but moan at it, even now her whole body was sensitive to his touch.

 

He didn’t stay at it, though, kissing her belly and nipping playfully at her hips before using his hands to part her legs wide. Gwaine kissed the mould that stood right before her sex and stopped, looking at her.

 

“It is already morning now, by any standards” he said, and his warm breath made her squirm.

 

“It is” she agreed, with a smile.

 

“So?” he lowered his head again, mouth open, breathing against the sensitive skin.

 

“Do as you wish” she told him, and he lost no time, diving right into action, his tongue coming out in a tentative lick. It was both good and not enough.

 

He seemed to be feeling the ground, but soon enough he was going at it with gusto — slowly but surely, attentive to every breath and every sound out of her, looking up at times to check how she was, attentive in a way she would _not_ have expected, but, well, there were a lot of things she hadn’t expected from him. Gwaine licked at leisure, and clearly there was no sense of obligation, but true enjoyment in it. It made her feel at ease, allowed her to relax completely and give herself up to it, until she was panting, out of breath, tiny shameful moans coming out of her mouth but she just didn’t care — she just wanted it to go on, as everything inside her seemed to be building into a wave that made her body rock and tremble until it crashed, leaving her breathless.

 

Gwaine’s shit-eating grin welcomed her back to reality. Her toes were still tingling, and Morgana couldn’t find it in herself to care enough to tease him back. Her whole body was so relaxed, she didn’t want to move, just to bask in the afterglow.

“Come here” she told him, and he complied.

 

They hadn’t left the bed yet, and after all the drinking, she didn’t trust their morning breath, but still pressed her lips against his, closed. She felt himself adjusting to her body, covering her, and the weight was delicious in that moment. His erection was poking her, and she nipped at his earlobe, snorting.

 

“Better get a condom” she told him, and he stretched his hand, picking it up from the bedside table near her head before sitting back and putting it on.

 

“Lube?” he asked, and Morgana wanted to say no, but considering the night’s activities, it was better to be safe than sorry. She nodded, and he got the tube — clearly well used — and coated himself generously, before touching her entrance with tenderness and spreading a bit around it too.

 

Still, as he pushed in — carefully, slowly — Morgana could feel herself burning. It was unpleasant, but not so much that she couldn’t handle, and there was some comfort in the way he kept whispering sweet encouragements to her ear, covering her with his body. Morgana was still too out of it to be of much help, although she did try to summon some enthusiasm for it. Her head _wanted_ this — her head felt the good parts underneath the burn caused from the rawness, analytically appreciated the talent in the way he moved his hips to meet hers, the small circles he kept making, hitting all the right spots. Her heart was content with the closeness and the warmness even if she wanted nothing more than a fuck out of this. It was her body that was having a hard time dealing with the contrasts of it all, and part of her was glad that he soon stilled, trembling, and she made a sharp movement with her hips, burying him in, as both her hands did the same with his hair, and for a moment, their eyes met and she could see the wonder in his look as he came.

 

Gwaine lowered himself on top of her, panting as she had, out of breath, and Morgana nudged him to slide out. It was a relief, at the same time, she missed the warmth of him. He was still clearly riding the aftermath of his orgasm, as she turned towards him and giggled.

 

“Good morning” she told him, with an amused shake of her head.

 

“The best” he answered, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

There was something surreal and at the same time comforting about that whole morning. Morgana was the first to get up, rushing to the bathroom to relieve her full bladder and, surprisingly, there was very little headache or dizziness — though there was clear hunger. From the toilet, she made just a quick stop to use the mouthwash on the sink before she headed straight to the shower, remembering too late she hadn’t gotten herself a towel. Gwaine came in just a few minutes later with it in his hand, and he must have used the toilet in the hallway, because he went straight to join her in the shower, without even asking.

 

It should have felt intruding, but, somehow, it didn’t. It felt only natural. He smiled at her, as if they had done it dozens of times before — well, they _had_ , but not with each other, which was what mattered — and when she stepped out of the jet of water to apply shampoo to her hair, he came into it, a long sigh at the feeling of the burning hot water hitting his body, soaking his hair. He was beautiful like this, Morgana noticed, and she didn’t bother pretending she wasn’t looking when he opened his eyes. With a grin, he pulled her close, into the water with him, and kissed her in spite of the shampoo spreading around. His arms were solid in her back, and she kissed him back eagerly, ignoring the sour taste of the chemicals that were being rinsed of her head.

 

It was, clearly, too soon for both to have more than a few kisses, and soon they were _talking_. Naturally. Normally. As if they had long been good friends. While Morgana tried to get herself into some semblance of order, Gwaine slipped on track pants and an old university jumper before heading out, telling her not to run away. Not that she would have had the time, since he was back before she had even managed to get her shoes.

 

Gwaine had brought back croissants and orange juice, and insisted that she needed to eat sooner rather than later. They ate together at his small table, starting to eat while coffee was being brewed, and even when his phone rang, he ignored it. Morgana hadn’t even checked hers — and just now she considered that Arthur might be worried. Well, if he had gotten rid of the girl he was with, that was.

Still, it wasn’t too long before she was in the cab and out, back to the apartment. Gwen surprised her by opening the door — clearly she was in early, and her apron said she was starting her efforts to get the turkey ready.

 

“Oh, we were wondering where you were” she said, but didn’t sound too concerned. Lance and Elyan were clearly getting ready to buy something, and waved at her.

 

“Hey” Elyan said, with the flash of a smile. “We’re going to buy the beverages.”

 

“Always leaving things for the last minute” Gwen told them, as they were leaving.

Arthur’s room had its door open, so there was no one but them in the house. “I’d advise you to change your clothes.”

  

Morgana did exactly that, glad to get into something warmer and more comfortable than the skinny jeans and lace top she had worn the night before. She was tired, but she knew she should be helping Gwen, so she went back to the kitchen.

 

“Anything I can do to help?” she asked, and Gwen directed her to some potatoes that needed peeling.

 

“You can tell me where you were, for starters” her friend’s voice was a mix of worry and curiosity. “I told them you must have crashed at Mordred’s, and they _didn’t_ bother to question it — but I know, for a fact, you were not there.”

 

“How can you be so sure?” Morgana asked, trying to ignore the question, but Gwen just turned around, letting go of the pan and the spoon she had been using and putting her hands in her hips.

 

“If you were at Mordred’s, you’d have had no problem in coming in with his clothes instead of your dirty ones. Also, it makes no sense to avoid _crossing a street_ , no matter how drunk you are. And, finally — _Mordred isn’t even home._ I’ve spoken to him because he, unlike you, actually picks up his phone.”

 

She shook her head, going back to her gravy. Morgana stopped what she was doing for a moment, checking her purse to find out her phone was dead. Oh, well. She put it on the charger, and went back into the kitchen.

 

“Must have run out of battery — sorry” she apologised.

 

“Stop beating around the bush and _tell me where you were.”_

 

Twenty years into knowing Gwen, Morgana was not such a fool as to believe in her sweetness; it was clear that she was about to threaten something possibly painful and hardly anything could be more humiliating than whatever revenge Gwen could pull.

 

“I crashed at Gwaine’s” she said, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible.

She could feel Gwen’s eyes on her, studying her profile as Morgana made an effort to keep everything off her face, even as the many flashes kept on coming back to her. It wasn’t as if Gwen could read thoughts.

 

“You crashed at Gwaine’s or did you _go home_ with him?”

 

“Is there even a difference in his case?” she teased; it was not as if it was a secret or anything.

 

“I suppose not” Gwen answered with a tiny grin, and shook her head.

It was her turn to look at her friend and observe Gwen’s profile. There was something worrying her, it was clear.

 

“What is it, Gwen?” she asked.

 

“Nothing” she told her, but it was clearly something. “You are both grown ups  — as long as you’re careful…”

 

“Gwen!” She chided, and turning off the cooker, Gwen looked at her, seeming sorry. “What _is_ it?”

 

There was a deep breath, she cleaned her hands on her apron, and turned towards Morgana.

 

“Well… It’s just…” Gwen exhaled deeply. “Arthur _slept_ with Gwaine…”

 

Typical Gwen —  she had always been a romantic and after over a decade with Lancelot that was even worse than her, it was clear she had started seeing everything as an _epic_ love story —  and Arthur’s whole glamorization of her own love story couldn’t have helped much.  Which was just so ironic since he didn’t even _believe_ in such things as romance. They had both been too overly exposed to it to think there was any ounce of truth in it. Morgana herself had had her heart broken once and it was more than enough for her to forfeit any wish to have it again; and by the time Arthur and Gwaine had first met, her brother had already been through the same, as they all knew too well. But Gwen would never believe in a life without romance.

 

“What?” she deadpanned, “No, really? Tell me the news now.”

 

Gwen looked away, clearly awkward.

 

“Well — for Arthur, it was _a bit more_ than just _sleeping_.”

 

“Arthur doesn’t even _believe_ in falling in love” she discarded, returning to her potatoes.

 

“He locked himself in for weeks after it was clear that it would never come to anything” Gwen told her, her voice soft, even if her words were twisting knives in her heart. “He wrote until he fell asleep, he was _miserable_. He will _never_ admit to it, though — he will say it was inspiration, and me and Lance, and his movie and whatnot — but the truth is, it was all about Gwaine. And even after… There are moments, I think, he still looks and wonders — even if he will deny it, we’ve all seen it. There is something about Gwaine that just…” she shook her head. “It was more than a shag for him.”

 

She wasn’t — she didn’t want to be — a bitch to Arthur. For all their differences, she loved him well. It was one thing to sleep with someone he had slept with too — it was something else to sleep with someone he had had feelings for. But Arthur hadn’t, she was sure of it.

 

Why, then, was she feeling guilty?

 

Gwen’s hand stilled hers, softly, and for the first time she noticed she had been trembling a bit, making a mess of her job. Morgana didn’t say anything — what could she _possibly_ say? She had kept her distance, she had stayed away, but Gwen had been by Arthur’s side all these years. There was little she could say — or do — to stop what had happened, but it clearly had been an even bigger mistake than some drunk, admittedly awesome sex. It had been the betrayal she had once feared from him, when he had sung Gwen praises and looked at her as if she was the best thing since sliced bread.

 

The door opened, putting a stop to any reply she could have given, and her brother came in, looking almost blissed out. He stopped at the kitchen door, smile on his face, and her heart twisted again.

 

“My favourite women!” he said, hugging them in turns.

 

“I’d have thought your favourite would be the one you left with, at least today” she quipped, trying to pretend everything was normal.

 

“Nah, you’re my favourite” he said, kissing Gwen’s cheek as she giggled, then turning towards Morgana. “Because you’ve been here longest and always give good presents — and Gwen is nice and makes awesome Christmas food.”

 

Morgana snorted, shaking her head.

 

“I didn’t bring you anything this year” she reminded him, yet again. “You told me you wanted no Christmas presents.”

 

“You brought yourself” he told her, and wasn’t this just the cherry on the top of her guilt? “And there is nothing I need, really, so it’s for the best. Elyan already thinks I have too much stuff.”

 

She nodded, trying to stay quiet but failing.

 

“Nothing else you want? I feel terrible about not giving you anything.” she heard herself asking, and Arthur frowned for a moment, thinking, considering, before giving her a blinding smile.

 

“Well — yes” he said, still smiling. “Just don’t sleep with Gwaine — but I already knew you wouldn’t make that mistake— and on that note, I really need a shower.”

He turned, going towards the bathroom, too fast to see her face fall at the request. There was little she could do, but sharing a glance with Gwen, it was as if all her words were suddenly made much more real, and just one question remained in her head.

 

What the fuck had she done?

 

* * *

 

 

Morgana had talked a bit to Gwen and they had agreed that it would be for the best if Arthur didn’t find out about Morgana’s little indiscretion. She had made plans to warn Gwaine about _never mentioning it, ever, under any circumstances_ as soon as he arrived; but, naturally, destiny had other plans. Gwaine arrived after all of them were already there — Percy, Mordred, Elena, Sefa, Leon, Mithian and even Vivian, although Morgana could hardly believe she was about to spend the evening with that bitch again — had not only gotten before him, but they had already been sitting at the table to eat.

 

There was something terribly off about him. It was not the same man she had left that morning. Underneath his tanned skin, Gwaine was pale. His hair still shone, but his eyes did not, unfocused and lost as he came inside and sat on the table. He nodded to people talking to him, but he clearly wasn’t listening to a word they said. Gwen had put food on his plate, but it was untouched. He did, however, drink from the wine that someone poured him.

 

“What is up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” complained Arthur, elbowing him from his place in the middle of the table. “You’re ruining Christmas with that face you have, you are.”

 

Gwaine merely shook his head, as if looking for words, before speaking, his voice low.

 

“I didn’t see I ghost, I just — heard one, I suppose” he said, still not looking at anyone, eyes on something over Lance’s shoulder that only he could see. “When I was getting ready to leave, well. Merlin called.”

 

Morgana had absolutely no clue of what he was on about, and judging by the look of the people on the table they didn’t either — save Percival, whose expression was akin as to if Gwaine had just told them his puppy died. A sudden and horrible death, at that.

 

“He told me he was the one calling earlier this morning” Gwaine continued, flashing his eyes at Morgana. Arthur looked at her, sharp with questioning, but turned back towards his _friend_ as he went on. “He said — well, he’s just gotten a promotion, and he is meant to start on January the 2nd. Only that… It’s in Camelot, and he doesn’t have anywhere to stay so he asked…” Gwaine shrugged, not finishing the sentence. “He’s coming for New Year’s — he’s staying with me until he gets his own place.”

 

No one said anything to this, except Percival, who just didn’t bang his head on the table because there was no space for it.

 

“Oh, Gwaine!” he said, his voice pained and exasperated. “Why, why, _why_ would you do this to yourself?”

 

“What would you have me do, Percy?” Gwaine’s voice was sharp, defencive. “Say no?”

 

“Yes!” Percy said, and it was particularly surprising, because he was very kind most of the time. “Tell him to get a hotel, whatever.”

 

“He is _my friend_ ” Gwaine reminded the taller man, his face angry.

 

“Yeah — right. _Friend”_ Percy spat, but he said no more, and the whole table remained quiet, stunned at their exchange.

 

Lance, naturally, was the first to recover and speak.

 

“I’m sorry — I feel that we’re missing _vital_ information here. Who _is_ Merlin?”

 

And then Gwaine explained.

 

* * *

 

 

The so cliché epithet of the one who got away was not enough to describe Merlin when it came to Gwaine.

 

At thirteen, Gwaine had moved to the little town of Ealdor with his family. It was a far cry from his childhood home, and he felt alone and as if he didn't fit, as if he was too big for such a small place. So, for the first few weeks, he mostly kept to himself, quiet and not trying to make friends.

 

Until, one day, he came across Merlin being bullied by a group of seven boys from school. To be fair, he was not alone, his best friend quick to defend him even as things turned from verbal sparring to fist fighting. And Gwaine, who had been chewing his anger at the whole town, was brimming for a fight and those seemed like just his type of odds. So, yeah, like some sort of shining knight, he went to their rescue. Merlin was by no means incompetent, but, the truth was, most of them had been scared away by Will's kicking and Gwaine's arm locks. It made him immediately worth it in Will 's eyes, and in the end — quite sweaty and a bit bloodied — they had first begun to talk.

 

Gwaine had noticed Merlin before, of course, enough to know this hadn't been even close to a one off experience. Something about his awkward and sweet nature just brought all bullies to the yard. The fact that he had no father and clearly little money also added to it. It made something inside Gwaine twist in anger because, really, in the half an hour since they had spoke, it became clear that there was no reason why anyone should _not_ like Merlin. So he had insisted on teaching him some self defence, and, in spite of not believing it would work for him, Merlin had agreed.

 

Thus they became fast friends, the three of them, and the bullies and indeed all town lived to bemoan the moment they met. Like Gwaine, Will was a prankster, hot headed and all around a little shit. Merlin would sometimes even try to tame their grand schemes for fun, but most of the time, he ended up joining them instead.

For two years, they had been inseparable. Sleepovers and weekend camping trips, snow ball fights and dyeing the whole school water pink, they had been the horror and the fun of Ealdor.

 

But as they started their CGSE year, right after the first summer they had spent away from each other, Merlin became quiet and subdued. Gwaine noticed, of course, but he knew better than to push the matter and just waited, patiently, for the moment his friend would say anything. Instead, he just kept pulling further away so, after a month of weird, Gwaine — whose patience was legendary for being short —  pressed him for answers about what was bothering him.

 

The answer was _not_ what he was expecting.

 

"I think... I think that maybe... maybe I like boys."

 

Gwaine would've loved to be able to say that he had answered with a cheeky "so do I" or a nonchalant "so what?", but those were the late nineties. It was not that simple —  it was not that easy. Not something one would see or hear everyday, much less in a small town like Ealdor. Being gay was an unknown quantity, bisexuality not even a blip on the radar. So, yeah, Gwaine had been stunned silent and merely agreed when Merlin suggested that, because of it, they probably shouldn't be friends anymore.

 

Even then, there was little he wanted more than to make Merlin happy, and if he was better off without Gwaine... well. He'd have to learn to live with it.

 

It had taken him almost two months to notice that there was something _wrong_ with the whole thing, because, really, Merlin was still friends with Will. He knew that because he _also_ was still good friends with Will. And _why_ had Merlin thought that it was okay to be friends with Will and not with Gwaine? Although he had been scared at first, a bit lost and confused by it, Gwaine hadn’t needed more than a couple of hours to notice that it didn’t really matter. So, naturally, whatever self-sacrificing drama Merlin had had in his mind when he had decided it was better not to be friends (and Merlin was particularly prone to those), it was absolutely unfounded. And Gwaine wasted just the amount of time needed get Merlin alone — oh, well, the time needed to go to his friend’s house, knock, shout, be continuously ignored until he just lost his patience and climbed through the open window to Merlin’s room — to tell him exactly that.

 

Merlin had stuttered. He had gone a tomato shade of red. He had tried and failed to explain that _it was a terrible idea_ and just when Gwaine absolutely refused to just accept it and kept on insisting, he had lost his calm and yelled at him.

 

“IT’S A BAD IDEA BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU DOLT!”

 

Gwaine hadn’t really stopped to think right at that moment — because he didn’t _need_ to think, not when his heart was racing that way and his stomach seemed to have dropped from a really high place, and his skin was thrumming with it all. He just lunged himself forward, clashing his lips with Merlin’s, making him stumble into the wardrobe’s door and hit his head. As far as first kisses go, it was a total disaster. It had also been so completely them. Just so _right_.

 

Somehow, things just had fixed themselves after it. They just sort of fell into a relationship — secretly, at first, because it was not the time nor the place to be _out_. First, Will found out. Then, other people did. Eventually, some six months later, it had become just about the worst kept secret in the whole school. Hunith had been very welcoming of it, and she had the patience of a saint with the two of them. It was just _simple_ and _right_. They were young, in love, and after the first shock, people had been… Well, not welcoming, but begrudgingly tolerant.

 

By the time their A-levels rolled around, they’d been together for almost 3 years and most of their schoolmates had found them in compromising situations in one place or another — at the locker room, on the second floor bathrooms, on the public pool, on the park at night, in the waiting room for the Headmaster’s office… To say that Gwaine’s dad had not been amused was an understatement. If he could, he probably would’ve moved away and taken them far away from each other — as it were, there was little he could do but threaten to cut Gwaine off — not that he would.

 

They had planned to attend the same university. They had planned their whole lives. They had known, like teenagers do, that they would be together forever.

Until the day Merlin came into Gwaine’s house, his face flushed with excitement, a letter of admission to Albion University, one of the most prestigious universities in the world, in his hand. Gwaine hadn’t even known he had applied — and Merlin said he never had expected to be accepted, much less to have the means to attend, but now it was all possible. He was happy for his boyfriend, he really was. It was a grand opportunity, one that should be enjoyed. And they would be fine, because, when you’re eighteen, everything will always work out in the end.

 

And they tried — they really, really did. Even being far away, they messaged all day. They called each other every other day, and every time they could they sneaked into computer labs and exchanged emails. Gwaine made sure that his Friday afternoons were off on that first period, so he could catch the afternoon train out of Ashkanar to see Merlin. Through September, Merlin’s roommate, Gilli, had found himself sexiled pretty much every weekend. Still, as the workload increased, it became more difficult to catch up with each other. Merlin was doing fine, as everyone knew he would, and he fit to a T into Albion. On Ealdor, he had often been the weird, too smart boy — now, he was among his equals, and it showed in his confidence.

 

They counted the days to the Christmas Holidays, to when they’d be home again and together. But, even though they kept trying, it was soon clear to everyone that they had just grown apart. It was just one of those things — nobody’s fault. It was a natural part of the process. Gwaine, stupidly, romantically, had tried to insist, he had said things were fine, he had kept trying harder and harder. He had needed Merlin to talk to him to make him be honest about it all — that it was hurting more than helping. Gwaine had swore that he would never fall in love with someone else, and Merlin, who once had been the biggest sap, had just laughed and shook his head at it, saying he doubted it — Gwaine was too much of a catch to be alone for long.

 

“I was going to marry you” he had told his boyfriend, simply, his heart breaking in a million pieces. “When they finally came to their senses and let us — I was going to marry you.”

 

Merlin’s smile was there, but sad, so terribly sad, and as heartbroken as Gwaine’s serious face, his eyes brimming with tears.

 

“Is this really what you wanted?” he asked, his tears falling down. “To marry the only boy you’ve kissed, the only person you’ve shagged? Am I the whole life you’d want to live? _Can I_ be all this?”

 

And once, he had been, but now… Now, in spite of loving Merlin, Gwaine was not so sure.

 

There had been nothing to say after that, although they had stayed in silence, arms and legs intertwined, wrapped in their misery for a long while. There had been a last kiss, promises of remaining friends and a tearful farewell and it was over.

Gwaine had come back to University crushed. He had barely left his dorm for days. He got lonely and depressed, and even if Merlin kept his end of the deal and maintained contact — not as constantly, but still, something — he just didn’t have the energy for everything. He wallowed in his misery, failed a number of classes, and if it hadn’t been for Percy; who was his roommate already; he might have failed them all. It had taken him a long time — longer than he would admit to anyone who was not around to see it — until he came into himself again.

 

Then, he became a new man. Well, not really — he became the same man that had stolen Merlin’s heart, just up to eleven. A lot of booze, too much partying, flirting with anything that moved. He _had_ avoided man for a while, experimenting to see if there _was_ something about girls he liked (the answer: yes, _a lot_ of somethings), but eventually he just gave up on any criteria and had decided to just live his life to the fullest. And, honestly, he regretted nothing.

 

Still, through all these twelve years, he had, unwittingly, kept his promise to Merlin.

 

He had not fallen in love with anyone.

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, in spite of the whole sex thing, it felt wrong that Morgana was listening to this story. It was personal — private — and not even knowing some of them for high on a decade, he had ever mentioned any of it. Percy looked grim, and by Elena’s expression, Christmas had been cancelled.

 

“We _did_ keep in touch” Gwaine told them, trying and failing to be nonchalant.

 

“If you call birthday phone calls and Christmas cards being in touch” Percy cut in and Gwaine just shook his head.

 

“Actually, since he joined Facebook, we’ve exchanged messages more often.”

 

“Game requests and cat videos are _not_ messages” Percy disagreed, and Gwaine frowned at it.

 

“We _talk_ too.”

 

“Right” it was clear that the taller man didn’t believe it, and that the shorter one thought this Merlin person could do no wrong. “If you say so…”

 

“So he just called up and asked for a place to stay?” Asked Arthur, disbelieving. Gwaine shrugged again.

 

“That is what friends are for, isn’t it?” he shot back, still unsure.

 

“Okay — are you serious?” Elena asked, her eyes wide. “I mean — really? Do you have a photo of this person?”

 

Gwaine took his mobile out of his pocket and tried to turn the screen on.

 

“Dead” he told her. “I’ll show you, just…”

 

“Paint me a word picture then” she asked, and Elena was sweet, but this was probably not helping.

 

“Well, he’s tall…”

 

“Just as tall as Arthur” Percy interrupted, and Gwaine shot him a dark glance before continuing.

 

“Lean…”

 

“He means scrawny.”

 

“Dark hair — very sharp cheekbones — the whole _fey_ look thing…”

 

“Weird. He means _weird_. Like a scrawny domestic elf.”

 

Gwaine stopped, as if he was going to protest this, but his eyes ran over the table, and stopped at Mordred.

 

“Well, a bit like Mordred, really.”

 

“ _Really_ weird” Percy said, before actually listening and looking at the younger man. “Oh. Well — yes, they look a lot alike.”

 

“Cheers, mate” Mordred croaked, clearly trying not to be too offended. “You _really_ know how to make a guy happy.”

 

“I didn’t mean it that way” the older man explained. “You’re not — I mean, I don’t think… I…” he stammered, and the whole thing was a bit hilarious, even in the tense mood. “Yeah, there are similarities…. But you’re not weird at all!”

 

“ _Nor is Merlin_ ” Gwaine insisted, then cleared his throat. “I hope you all won’t mind having him along — I mean, _Morgana_ is here, so it was obvious that there would be outsiders in our little party.”

 

“Hey!” Arthur said, somewhat offended for her. “She’s _my sister_!”

 

Gwaine made a truly funny expression, as if it was a heavy burden to carry, and slapped Arthur’s back.

 

“And _that_ is how much we love you, mate” he gave a sharp nod. “If it were _my sister_ …”

 

“Who you say is a harpy” Arthur countered, and Gwaine just shrugged.

 

“Well — yeah, but you say the same about yours, — and I’m not saying that I agree nor disagree with it —” he added, throwing her a smile “and yet, here we are. Now, can you pass me the salt?”

 

At first, it all felt a bit forced — a bit too cheerful to be true — but after a while conversation lulled back in and Morgana turned to Gwen, hoping that they’d be able to whisper while the rest was otherwise entertained.

 

“This hole I put myself into just keeps getting bigger and bigger” she told Gwen, shaking her head. “Thank _God_ I was not thinking about going on with it.”

 

“What hole?” Lance pipped in, his expression curious for a moment, before he looked around and continued. “ _Ah._ Well, yes, it was _not_ your best made decision.”

 

“What wasn’t?” Mordred asked, from her other side, listening to Lance, and getting into the conversation.

 

“Sleeping with Gwaine” Gwen filled him in, and Morgana elbowed her best friend.

 

“ _Secret_!” she muttered, shaking her head. “Jesus, when have you all gotten so co-dependent?”

 

“Five years ago, I think” Sefa added, from where she was, next to Mordred and in front of Lance. “Now, they had always been weird, but…”

 

“It was a rhetorical question” Morgana clarified, “now, can we just… I don’t know, _eat_ without dramatic revelations?”

 

They all just shrugged and, at least for now, it seemed that her secret was still somewhat safe.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing about Gwaine was that he lit _all_ the red lights. He was a flirt. He drank too much. He had very little sense of decorum. He slept with any and everything that was willing. He had slept with _her brother_ and made him _suffer_. He clearly had a lot of unfinished business with his ex after more than ten years apart.

 

Still, Morgana just couldn’t stop thinking about him.

 

It was not a… romantic thing, not really. But Gwaine was as unavailable as they come — exactly what she needed now — and also, the whole sex thing? It had been pretty amazing. And she _did_ have high standards.

 

At the same time, every time her eyes looked for him, watched him trying to keep his natural cool behaviour, she could now see it was a bit strained. Gwaine was tense, and as the days went by, getting more and more distant to boxing day and closer and closer to New Year’s Eve, the clearer it was. She didn’t say anything about it — it was _not_ her place — so she had no idea if anyone else saw it, until on the 30th of December, she found her brother drinking eggnog on the balcony, alone and seeming to be thinking about life.

 

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, lighting up a cigarette. It was such a stupid idea.

 

“Better here than inside” was all he answered, still looking out, at the stars hidden by the clouded sky. It was going to snow again before morning came.

 

They had decided on staying in, since the next day was sure to be a marathon. Elyan was going to spend the night at Vivian’s, and even go to her father’s party with her before meeting them at Mordred’s near midnight. The house was silent without the usual group coming and going.

 

“Don’t think too hard, it isn’t good for your health” she teased her younger sibling, and he snorted and shook his head.

 

“It’s just — it’s all a bit surreal, you know?” Morgana had no idea what he was talking about, not at first, but he clarified quickly. “Gwaine. And this whole romance thing — honestly, most of us just thought he didn’t even have a heart. So, yeah, it’s weird to see him so… vulnerable. So tense.”

 

“I know” she answered, with a sigh. “I don’t know him as well as you guys, but — yes. It feels weird. Out of place, somehow.”

 

“It’s funny” Arthur shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind. “All those years, and I had never considered that he had ever been in love — or heartbroken — or suffered that much. He was always a bit… Surreal. Larger than life. More a character in a story than a flesh and blood man and now… It makes him so human. Almost too human. At the same time, it makes so much sense; it explains _so much_.”

 

Morgana had to laugh at that, because, in his heart, her little brother was still so little.

 

“Maybe, but it changes nothing — it just tells you _why_ he decided to be what he is, and if something became _very_ clear these days was that it _was_ a choice.”

 

“Yes, but not a choice made out of being a jerk — a choice made out of… Well, things.”

 

She stopped, looking at him for a long moment and thinking back on Gwen’s words on Christmas.

 

“Arthur…” she started, but it wasn’t easy to continue, they had never been good at talking about feelings — even if Arthur made a life out of writing about them. “Arthur, you still… feel something for him, don’t you?”

The look he gave her was at once surprised and angry.

 

“Where do you people _get_ this from?”

 

“The way you look right now?” she tease, trying for levity. “For starters.”

 

“Morgana” he stopped, one hand on his hip, the other gesticulating along with his speech. “I _love_ Gwaine, but _certainly_ not like this — I never _loved_ him like this. Even with — even if _he_ had never become what he is, even if I _was_ the sort of person to fall in love; it’d never work. I know far too much about romance to know _that_. We’re _not_ the main pairing that goes through tons of shit and ends up together; we never were and we’ll never be. We were… A slip. A thing. Long forgotten and even longer gone.”

 

And she truly wanted to believe him, but she _was_ a master at fooling herself — (See: Cendred’s Odyssey for examples on this) — and doubted that Arthur was much too different.

 

“Are you _absolutely_ sure?”

 

“Yes” his voice was firm, strong, sure. Still, there was something in her, maybe an older sister thing, maybe a rational thing, maybe a guilt thing that made her keep pushing.

 

“So why did you ask me not to sleep with him?”

 

Arthur’s face was surprised, as if this one question had thrown him out of balance, and he answered in kind.

 

“What does it matter? Did you want to?”

 

And while she had decided on the spot that she was _never_ telling him, right when she woke up and noticed it had happened, somehow, it just spilt out now.

 

“It had already happened.”

 

Arthur opened his mouth, sort of in shock, and sort of as if he was about to say something, but no words came out. He took a deep breath, shook his head again and pressed his lips into a thin line.

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Clearly, it does” she disagreed, getting angry. There was a limit for being deliberate oblivious. “And you are not doing anybody any favours in pretending it is nothing! So be a _man_ for once, face it, and tell me exactly why it was _such_ an issue! It’s _not_ because you’ve bedded him — it wouldn’t even be the first time it happened — it’s _obviously_ something _more_.”

 

Arthur laughed, it was a sharp and bitter sound cutting through the air, as he shook his head yet again — one of his nervous habits — and turned towards her, anger and frustration shining in his eyes.

 

“What would you have me say, Morgana? That I feared that you’d be _perfect_ together? That I _can’t stand_ that everyone around me is finding their matches, getting paired up and becoming an item while I can’t even imagine being _that_ interested in someone? That if even Gwaine — even _you_ — managed to turn meaningless sex into something more, it’d mean I’m _broken_? And that it _kills me_ inside, because, _really_ , I _wish, every day_ I could just _feel this_? That it’s _not_ as if I _was_ absolutely aromantic, because _I’ve_ _been there_ before, I’ve felt it — but it just seems that it’ll _never happen again_ because I’m spoilt, I’m used up, _I’m not worth it_? That I sometimes feel like a _fraud_ , like I’m a robot, like _I’m not even me anymore_? That I’m still _angry_ at Valiant for everything that happened, and _even with Gwaine_ although he _never_ gave me false hope? That every time I see those people around — and Leon and Mithian _more than most_ — I just wish I had the _balls_ to allow myself to go there? I was _very_ depressed when things between me and Gwaine didn’t blossom, but _not_ because I was _oh, so in love with him_ — I felt things, yes, but nothing _that_ soul-crushing. What was _really_ soul-crushing was realising that _I had been falling in love_ and when it _led nowhere, I just bounced back_ , as if there was some backspace key in my heart that made it _all_ into _nothing_ in _hours_ and that — that I was _not_ normal. I’m _not_. I want to go back — I _want to feel_ — but I… I can’t.”

 

Tears were spilling from his eyes, continuously, and Morgana couldn’t even remember the last time she had seen him cry. It broke her heart, and not a single part of her could feel the relief it should for all those things. She hated Valiant for all he had done to Arthur, but now — seeing how even all those years later, he _still_ was punishing himself for things that were not his fault, it all came back, stronger than before. She wanted to hug him, to comfort him, but how could she? How could she, when she didn’t have any answers, when she had thought and been through the same? Some of it had been because of things they had been through, but how not to think that part of it was because of how they were raised?

 

Because Uther and Ygraine clearly loved each other, but it had been far from a perfect marriage, a TV commercial. There were cracks enough to made them doubt it, the institution, to make them understand that even love was not enough; that it took so much more of that, and that even the most blissful marital happiness was mixed with moments of equally deep hurt. It had taught them that the more you felt of good, the more you felt of bad, and that it was hard to see when it was just too much. It had made them jump headfirst into things that made them hurt to the point of shutting it all down. It had been enough that it made them cold, made them calculating, as if love was a poker game instead of pure chance. From all the examples of dedication they had, it didn’t _help,_ it just brought impossibly high standards they tried to live with — measure against — until they had given up completely and gone the completely opposite way.

 

What a mess they were.

 

Morgana threw her arms around her brother, allowing the tears she always kept away to fall, and they cried, together, on the porch during the evening, nobody there to witness the moment the two great Pendragon children broke down. Morgana knew too well all things he had said, she had felt them too, and exactly because of _that_ she knew how much it had cost him to voice any of those, let alone all of those.

 

Arthur just held her back, close, his warmth not comforting, but suffocating and they parted after a few seconds, awkward.

 

“I’m sorry” she told him, for lack of anything else to say, anything useful.

 

“Don’t be” he said, shaking his head. “Just — if this _is_ what… Don’t be me, Morgana. Don’t deny yourself. Just do it.”

 

She snorted, as if she could ever do that to him _now_. A part of her even doubted _Gwaine_ would, had he known how deeply Arthur feared it. It might not be fair to her, but life was never fair, and… Really, it hadn’t been anything. It hadn’t even been a possibility. It was _just sex_.

 

“I’m not” she answered, finally. “You don’t have to worry — you’ve heard for yourself. He’s _not_ available, and, honestly, even if he wasn’t… I’m just too messed up, too. We’re not that different, little brother. And this means that, even if I _did_ want — which I _don’t_ because, as you said, it’s a terrible idea and the worst choice — I wouldn’t be able to. So, you have _nothing_ to worry. You’re not to become an old bachelor alone, as far as I’m concerned — though I _might_ come to fight you in our old age for the state, and I _won’t_ hesitate crushing your poor heart with my cane.”

 

And, miracles of miracles, Arthur laughed — and Morgana knew it would all be well. Some day.

 

* * *

 

 

To say they were all incredibly curious to meet Merlin would be an understatement. A person — whoever he was — who had managed to turn Gwaine’s head was bound to be remarkable. They knew Merlin had arrived early in the morning, and while there had been much discussion in their new secret whatsapp group about “casually bumping into them”, no one had had the courage to. After all this time, Gwaine needed to have the space to readjust, even if it meant only a couple hours.

 

They had decided to celebrate the New Year at Mordred’s place — first because it was spacious, second because the downstairs apartment was empty, which meant no one was going to be annoyed at their late night drunk antics. Morgana was surprised again at how big the group had become, how many people had become attached to her brother and her best friend. Gathered at Mordred’s place, going easy on the drinking and nibbling on the finger food Gwen, Leon and Sefa had prepared, they waited eagerly for their arrival. It was probably the first time Morgana had ever been to a New Year’s Eve party where pretty much everyone who was invited was already there before 10PM rolled around.

 

Naturally, when they _did_ arrive, it was sort of anti climatic. Gwaine came in, carrying two huge bags filled with beer — a grin and a smile to everyone, loud as usual — and Merlin basically scurried in in the middle of the many things being carried. Most of them needed a moment to notice him, and he was not _exactly_ what they had been expecting — although the descriptions had been quite accurate.

 

Merlin _did_ look more than a bit like Mordred. They shared the same dark hair, although Mordred’s was far more curly. Merlin’s eyes were pure cerulean, while Mordred’s were, at best, baby blue. He also had a thinner jawline, and truly dramatic cheekbones that contrasted sharply with his plump mouth, and that became even more pronounced as he blushed from their attention. He wasn’t as wide as the younger man, but he was not as scrawny as they had been led to believe he’d be; and tall — just Leon and Percival would stand taller than him. He was also incredibly quiet.

 

“Hm. Hi?”

 

Just then they noticed they had all gone silent at seeing him, and it couldn’t be easy to be stared intensity for over a dozen people at once. The Christmas song on the radio came to an end, and broke the spell.

 

“HI!” said Gwen, sounding a tad too enthusiastic. “You must be Merlin.”

 

“Yes” he confirmed, with a jerky nod.

 

“Oh, yes — sorry about that” Gwaine said, letting go of the bags carelessly on the table and returning to stand next to Merlin. “Everyone, this is Merlin — Merlin, this is everyone.”

 

“Gwaine!” Gwen chided, her hands on her hips, coming closer to them. “That’s not a proper introduction.”

 

The man just shrugged, as if he didn’t mind, and Merlin shot him an exasperated look, that was in tune with Gwen’s.

 

“I’m Gwen” she said, offering her hand, which he took without questioning. “I know this may be scary, and that it’s a lot of people, but if you can handle Gwaine — well, most of us should be easy.”

 

She offered him one of her sunniest smiles, and he replied with one of his own, and they were all sorts of adorable, like two puppies.

 

“Oh, never fear. Also, I’m _sorry_ about Gwaine. We tried to teach him manners, but he never really got into it.”

 

This was said in a teasing, playful tone, and his friend stuck his tongue out, childishly. Elena snorted loudly at the exchange.

 

“I feel you” Gwen answered, patting his hand as in a way that was both comforting and made them seem like two failed conspirators commiserating on their misery.

 

“Now, since _Gwaine_ hasn’t learned manners, why don’t I introduce you to everyone?”

 

Morgana’s eyes were drawn to Gwaine as Gwen said the words, and he had his mouth stuffed with food from the table, carefully not looking too closely anywhere. She didn’t know if she wanted to slap him or hug him.

 

“This is Lance, my fiancee” she introduced, and Lance shook Merlin’s hand firmly. “He’s studying to become a pediatrician” she added, pride shining in her voice and love spilling from her eyes. “He’s the best.”

 

“No, you are” Lance contested, gooey as only the two of them could be after so long together. “And this is Sefa — she’s a teacher at my school; I teach preschool — she has just been promoted to full teacher” Sefa smiled at him, and Merlin nodded at her. “And Elena, her lovely girlfriend, who also teaches there.”

 

“Heya” Elena said, elbowing him for hello and almost sent him spinning. Somehow, Morgana had the impression that leaving them close might not be a good idea for the china around the house.

 

“These are Leon and Mithian — Leon is an executive producer at New Avalon, and Mithian is a lawyer at Nemeth Corp” Merlin shook Leon’s hand, and smiled at Mithian, who did the same, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Like so many of them, she was wary of this man who had caused so much pain. “And of course, you know Percy.”

 

“How are you doing, Merlin?” Percy asked, in a civil tone that lacked his usual warmth.

 

“Nervous” Merlin answered, clearly honest and not noticing anything wrong. “Fighting not to bite my nails, really.”

 

Percy let out a small snort at it, and Gwen, possibly feeling tense, continued.

“And you _must_ have heard of Mordred, he’s our little film star” she cooed, and Merlin shook his head.

 

“Yes — I’ve seen your latest — It’s amazing, really. The colours — the textures…”

 

“Merlin studied Art” Gwaine offered, still next to the table, still eating. “He’s a photography director at New Avalon, now — I just found out today. How _awesome_ is that?”

 

“Assistant director” Merlin dismissed. “I’m still not…”

 

“That’s so great!” Vivian chirped in, and Gwen shot her a thankful glance, which was probably a first.

 

“Thank you” Merlin said, looking down at his feet.

 

“And this is Vivian — you’ve probably seen her too on the telly — and, of course, she’s the daughter of your new boss!”

 

“Oh — yes — only with red hair, I think? In that shitty show about the Cupid?”

 

“Excuse me!” Arthur’s voice alone made the room’s temperature drop a few degrees. Of course he was going to take offence, even if he had said the same more times than anyone could count. “It was a different, _peculiar_ look at mythology and…”

 

“Yeah, yeah” Merlin waved his hand, dismissing it. “I’m sorry — I didn’t know you were a fan…”

 

“I’m _not_ a fan” Arthur bristled, but Merlin continued as if he hadn’t heard anything.

“But it was _tacky_ and the dialogue? Ugh — talk about _cliche_. And when Psy left? What sort of bullshit excuse was that?” Merlin shook his head, disapproving, and Morgana had to bit back a laugh, even though she _knew_ she should side with her brother.

 

“It _was_ a shame, wasn’t it?” Vivian asked, the only one to speak in the silence. “ _Such_ a waste of a character — but some writers just _don’t know_ how to deal with the gifts they’ve been handed” she shot Arthur one of her meanest grins to date, and god, how did Elyan _like_ her? “But, water under the bridge and all that — we’ve all moved on.”

 

“Thankfully!” Merlin agreed, shaking his head. “It was just awfully written — I mean, what sort of _sap_ would write those things?”

 

“The exactly sort of _sap_ who knows how to touch people’s hearts — to make people feel _happy_ — while you’re just infuriating.”

 

The intensity which Arthur was looking at Merlin now went far beyond his usual annoyance; very different from the usual sort of grudge he would hold. His eyes shone, and there was a heat to his cheeks, and unless Morgana was much mistaken, he was _loving_ it.

 

“Look, mate, I don’t mean to offend” Merlin tried, but Arthur snorted.

 

“I’m not your mate” he dismissed, quickly, a gesture of his hand.

 

“No — I’d never have one who could be such an _ass_ ” Merlin hissed, still, there was something there too, a smile, that showed that he was far more amused than he was angry.

 

“Or I one who could be so _stupid”_ Arthur shot back, and from the corner of her eye, Morgana saw Gwaine stop eating, eyeing the conversation with tension on his shoulders. “Tell me, Merlin, have you ever even learnt how to _interpret_ things?”

 

“Yes — and I also _know_ enough to know that _show_ and _not say_ is a number one rule in writing.”

 

“I could have you fired for that” Arthur hissed, his hand on his hip. Merlin laughed.

 

“Who do you think you are? The _owner_?”

 

“No — I’m the _Head Writer_ — Arthur.”

 

Merlin laughed at first, and as none of them contradicted it, his face fell. He was clearly dismayed.

 

“I didn’t…” He started, and Arthur waved it away.

 

“No — you _really, really did._ That’s cool. Now I know _how you feel_ about my writing _,_ I’ll make sure to steer you far from it.”

 

He walked away, heading to the curled stairs that led to the terrace, while Merlin, blushing, looked around at a loss. Gwen bit her lip, Lancelot was looking at his feet, Gwaine seemed to be fighting back laughter, Vivian seemed as if her revenge had been sweet, while the rest carefully pretended that nothing had happened.

 

“Wow, you _really_ managed to offend the princess” Gwaine said, grinning. “Worth every second, though. Can’t let his head get too big.”

 

Morgana laughed at that, and it seemed to ease the room a bit, and Gwen scurried to make the final introductions.

 

“This is Elyan, my brother” she gestured towards the man, to where he sat perched next to Vivian. The two shook hands, but it was still strained. “And Morgana — my best friend for ages.”

 

Merlin offered his hand, and she shook it.

 

“Also, Arthur’s sister” she confided, as Gwen said, loudly. “Who wants wine?!”

Everyone rushed to say yes, to stand and move towards the table, but Merlin looked thoroughly apologetic.

 

“I didn’t mean — I wasn’t — look, I had _no idea_ and _everyone_ and their mothers know that Vivian hated the damn writer and that… She’s the _boss's darling daughter_!” he begged, and Morgana laughed at it. “I should never have _tried_ to — I’m _rubbish_  at trying to make people… _This_ is why I never get promotions, I just _don’t know how_ to suck up to people — I just stick my foot in my mouth and” he flailed his arms, in a movement that was reminiscent of Elena’s. “I _suck_ at this.”

 

“Relax” she said, shaking her head. “Gwaine’s right, my brother’s head is too big — he’s become too full of himself since the whole award winning thing with the movie.”

 

“I loved it” confessed Merlin, with a tiny smile. “It was _so_ truthful — and so beautiful and..”

 

She didn’t want to like the man, but it was hard when his enthusiasm and his warmth poured from every move in his face; he was expressive and honest and he clearly wasn’t scared of making his opinions known. Morgana could totally see why Gwaine had grown so attached, there was something there, a mixture of braveness and helplessness that made one want to take care of him, put him in a box and never let anything bad happen to him because he’d be just so crushed.

 

“It was the story of Lance and Gwen — but you must know that” she offered, and Merlin turned, watching the two of them, being sickeningly sweet as usual.

 

“Oh, I can see why!” he cooed, before turning back to her, his face back to serious and clearly guilty. “Do you think that if I take him a bottle of wine and apologise, he’ll forgive me?”

 

“I’d offer scotch” she answered, with a wink, and Merlin just threw his arms around her, hugging her as if they hadn’t just met under less than auspicious circumstances a few minutes before.

 

“Thank you — thank you! I’ll do that.”

 

“But Merlin” she warned, not able to leave it out. “If you hurt him more, I’ll have your liver as appetisers before midnight.”

 

He gulped, visibly, before giving her a blinding smile and walking away.

 

* * *

 

 

Once the partying was back to normal, Morgana finally managed to approach Gwaine. She had been meaning to talk to him since Christmas, but there had never been the moment — and things had changed, too. It was not exactly awkward, or at least not because of what had happened between them but because of how _exposed_ the whole Merlin thing had left him. And if there was something Morgana was sure of, it was that Gwaine hated being vulnerable as much as she did. Somehow, his story made _her_ feel vulnerable too — somehow, even without meaning to, she had shared many snippets of his life with him that she hadn’t spoken of for years. So maybe — just maybe — it’d be enough for him to feel able to vent at least a bit.

 

“So” she said, trying to go for conversational and light. “That was the famous Merlin”.

 

He threw her a sideway look and shrugged, taking another sip of his beer.

 

“How are you holding up?” she asked, not really expecting any answer more than a dismissal of everything, and was pleasantly surprised when he answered.

 

“It’s — well, a bit weird” he sighed, turning to look at her. “You remember what you told me, the day we met? About your… _friend?_ Morgause I think? How you missed her, because she _just got you_?”

 

Morgana nodded, ignoring the little tug her heart made at the mention of it, how she felt on the spotlight all over again.

 

“Well… Merlin was like that. I think. He _got_ me. And that’s what made it all easy — everything between us. Now… Well, it’s only been a few hours but… Well, even before that, even back in Uni, when it ended… It’s just… We don’t. Not anymore. It’s _not_ that we’re not good friends, it’s not that he doesn’t try — or I don’t try — but we… We grew apart and it became… Different. We can still talk for hours, but we just… It’s not the same. Or it’s, maybe, the same thing that happens with Percy or Lance or… All my other friends. It’s not that knowledge that you have that there is someone out there that just _gets it, gets you_. And I miss that — maybe I’ll always miss that — but I don’t… It was silly, having a part of me that was always waiting for _that_ to come around again, because, it just doesn’t, does it? You don’t come across people you never truly talked to before and they just _understand_ you. That’s for romance — for stories — the same babble Arthur pours from his fingers and never believes. Maybe some part of me still did — but, yeah. It just doesn’t happen. You may get one shot — one chance of finding someone like that — and even then, it’s just a moment. When it’s gone, it’s over — and you just have to, I don’t know, live without it and settle for… Whatever else people that never had it settle for. Right?”

 

Morgana nodded, tinily. She understood it all so well — maybe she didn’t even need to hear him say, because it was shining from everything he did. She had been there too often, every time she ran into Morgause again.

 

“It doesn’t make it easy, knowing that” she offered, from her own experience.

 

“It doesn’t” he agreed, with a sad smile. “But I’ll still have to try.”

 

And there was nothing more either of them could do but try — try to live without having someone that just got them, try to live without having that sort of bond that, well, most couple they knew didn’t really share, save Gwen and Lance. It was _not_ how it worked — there weren’t people roaming around, with their sort of mindset and who could read their feelings, and who could sweep them off their feet. It was _not_ that easy, it would never be, and there was nothing they could do but learn to live with it.


	4. Chemistry and Timing

 

Sometimes, Merlin felt as if he had spent half of his life apologising. Not because he did it too much — but he invariably needed to express how sorry he was for something he had said without thinking (he was the poster-child for open-mouth, insert-foot), or, worse, for his clumsiness. It was such a hindrance in his daily life — especially considering how much expensive material he had to deal with — that it annoyed him to no end when people used clumsy as an “easy, relatable, go-to” flaw to give to their characters.

 

Which was, really, around half of the issue the had had with the damn Cupid show — the title character was little more than a bit clumsy, and that was all he had to counter his perfect everything else. Which was, perhaps, part of the reason that it hadn’t last long after his love interest left.

 

He was particularly attentive as he walked up the curled stairs with a bottle of Glen McKenna in his right hand and glasses on his left. He didn’t know if it’d help any, but it was the best he could do, wasn’t it? Offer an apology and some scotch?

The terrace had been decorated with fairy lights, which gave it an eerily beautiful look. The place would have been beautiful either way, with it’s open planes and rustic furniture mixed with circular iron tables with matching intricate chairs that could have been brought straight from a Paris café, and the lights made it look more intimate, somehow, less exposed to the neighbourhood who partied outside. Arthur was leaning against the rail, and hadn’t turned at his arrival. Merlin walked to the table closest to where he stood, and put the bottle and glasses on it.

This made the man turn, and upon seeing him, he let out a long suffering sight.

 

“Came to offend me some more?”

 

“I came with whisky and apologies” Merlin replied, trying to sound cheery as he opened the bottle. “I was rude and insensitive and tried too hard to get in her good graces. I should have been less caustic.”

 

Arthur snorted at this, put accepted the glass being handed to him.

 

“You think?” he asked, taking a sip, and Merlin had the grace to blush.

 

“Well — yes. Also, I should have mentioned I loved your movie and that it made me cry like a little girl.”

 

Arthur shook his head, but there was a grin in the corner of his mouth.

 

“No, please, do not stop with the insults. They are almost refreshing these days. People don’t ever say what they think to me anymore, and I’m starting to believe I’m really _that_ good.”

 

“What? A writer with a sense of his own ego? That’s unheard of!” teased Merlin, and the pair of them smiled. “No, really. There were… Well, I’m not going to say the show wasn’t bad, but it didn’t deserve my words either.”

 

“It really did” Arthur disagreed, looking out again. “It was _crap_. And got worse after Vivian left. Whatever. We’ve all moved on from it.”

 

There was little they could say now, and Merlin was not always that good at initiating conversation after having already made a fool of himself, so he ended up with the most inane topic he could think of.

 

“So, we’ll be working together” he chirped, and Arthur looked at him sideways, with a tilt of an eyebrow.

 

“I think I made it clear that I’ll keep you as far away from _me_ as I can.”

 

“No, you won’t” Merlin answered, a confident smile in his face. “I’m _really_ good at what I do and exactly what you need.”

 

Arthur laughed, and shook his head, and he had nothing to answer, so Merlin continued.

 

“You know, it’d be a pity to move to a whole new city — big city too — only to be reduced to third quality productions. So, I’ll have to stick around and hope that you’ll forgive me enough to give me a chance, even if you don’t forgive me enough to have a drink with me after work.”

 

Arthur snorted, and Merlin took a sip of his own drink. He never liked whisky much, but it was the best he could do right now, do something with his hands.

 

“Somehow, I don’t have the feeling this will be much of an option” Arthur replied, finally. “I doubt Gwaine will stand by and allow us not to receive you with open arms.”

 

Merlin snorted at this.

 

“Well — yeah. Gwaine gets a bit like that. I think he still thinks I’m the little boy he claims to have saved from the bullies.”

 

That made Arthur laugh, and he grinned as well.

 

“Are you calling me a bully?” he asked, raising his eyebrows, hand at his hip, and Merlin just continued to grin.

 

“If the cap fits!” he replied, cheekily, and there was a full laugh in response. “And bossy, probably, I’ve heard you’re bossy.”

 

“You barely know me!” Arthur answered, gesturing towards the sky.

 

“Everyone _knows of_ you. You have a fame — in and out of business. So, yes, I have it on good authority that you’re bossy as hell.”

 

“You shouldn’t listen to everything people say about me” He warned, before fully turning towards him. “Also, it can’t be _that bad_ of a fame, if you decided to drop everything and come work with us.”

 

“It’s one of those things” he shrugged, smiling, he had no wish to explain the many reasons that made him feel like he was ready for a bigger step. “Not that it isn’t _hard_ to just start at a new place, but… New Year, New Beginning, I guess. Never has been truer in my life.”

 

Arthur nodded, his face thoughtful.

“Yes, but you have someone around, that’s good. Gwaine can be a little shit in many ways, but he is a good friend. I don’t know how I would have coped if I had to move by myself, but having Lance and Gwen made it feel… Well, easier, I guess.”

 

Merlin leaned his head a bit; it seemed like there as so much more in this story. It was a funny thing, but working with stories had made him eager to know everyone’s. Maybe he was getting a bit nosey. Maybe he just needed more time.

 

“You’re very lucky in those two” he offered, for lack of a better answer. “Good friends, awesome inspiration — this is the dream. The whole lot of them, really.”

 

“Yes — they’re the worst and best people in the world. You’ll fit right in.”

 

This surprised him, it certainly wasn’t the feeling he had gotten upon arrival. It made him feel all warm inside that someone what so ready to accept him.

 

“Why do you think so?” he asked, and the look Arthur gave him was half appraisal, half curiosity.

 

“There’s just _something_ about you, Merlin. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there is. Something that tells me you’ll be in the group for the long haul.”

 

Right then, right there, Merlin could hope for nothing more than for that to be true.

 

* * *

 

 

After talking for a while, the two men descended the stairs to find that everyone was very much relieved that they were no longer at odds — if a single conversation could have been called that. Merlin was glad to talk to everyone for a bit: Gwen was the sweetest person on Earth, and Lancelot was made for her. Elena was a hoot, a bit like Gwaine, and her girlfriend seemed to be long suffering about it. After three knocked wine bottles, the whole group decided it was in their best interest if the two of them didn’t get too close for too long or the whole building could come down.

 

Well, he couldn’t really argue that point.

 

Percy was still reticent, Morgana was plain scary — with a prankster streak that made it very understandable that she spent most of her time teasing and supporting Gwaine in turns. Elyan was funny, but his girlfriend... Merlin couldn’t believe he had picked Vivian’s side over Arthur’s for even a second, since everything about her was annoying and arrogant, including, but not limited to, her voice. Mithian and Leon were super polite, and Leon was more than ready to acquaint him with the whole workings of his new job. Mordred was nice, and a bit shyer than he would have expected.

 

And Arthur. His eyes were frequently draw to him even the midst of other conversations — there was something about him that shone; and it was more than his stark physical beauty. It was some sort of aura, of allure, that made Merlin’s eyes search for him amongst the tight-knit group of friends, as if seeing him alone was enough to put him at ease. Often, Arthur would be looking at him too.

 

So it was not all that surprising that Arthur was next to him when Morgana and Gwaine yelled, halting everyone to a stop.

 

“Mistletoe!” She was saying, pointing above. “Mistletoe — you’ve got to kiss now.”

 

“No way out, my friend” Gwaine agreed, slapping Percy’s back. “Just do it.”

 

“This is ridiculous” Mordred offered, blushing furiously. “I didn’t even put that here!”

 

Morgana gave him a sharp look, and it made Merlin wonder if she didn’t believe Mordred’s words or if she had put the plant there herself and that it should be obvious. He didn’t know, but both options seemed amusing enough.

 

“Anyway, Percy has made it very clear that he has no wish to kiss me” Mordred continued, clearly failing at the nonchalant act — for such a good actor, he was not the best liar.

 

“It’s not that I…” Percy started, and Mordred waved his words away.

 

“Crystal clear by Christmas, I’d say.”

 

“Doesn’t matter, rules are rules” Elena interrupted, “Under the mistletoe, so kiss”

 

She tried to help it along by pushing Mordred’s back, and sent him crashing into Percy’s massive form. They all laughed, but there was some tenderness in the way Percy helped him stand again, hand on his lower back. Mordred looked up, seeming a little breathless.

 

“Best giving them what they want” Percy said, in half a whispered, but they had all gone somewhat quiet — waiting, expecting, silently cheering.

 

“I never deny my public” Mordred replied, tilting his chin upper.

 

Percy leaned down, kissing him softly. All of them whistled and cheered, and Merlin averted his eyes. There was something incredibly personal about the moment, something that was not a simple peck from being under the mistletoe. His eyes found Arthur, right by his side, also not looking their way. Instead, he was looking at Merlin.

 

“A long time in the making” he said, gesturing towards the couple who was still kissing, even though everyone had looked away now, and was chatting. “Maybe we grew a bit over invested in this.”

 

Merlin could do nothing but laugh, glancing towards the two of them as they parted. Percy seemed dazzled, but there was a twinkle in Mordred’s eyes as he looked quickly at Morgana and back that made Merlin suspect that it had all been a well-planned ruse. He turned back to look at Arthur, before he spoke.

 

“Another serious downside of moving to a new place is having no one to kiss at midnight” he said, his skin thrumming, questioning the whole boldness of his words.

 

“It can be arranged” Arthur muttered back, but his eyes were not on Merlin’s, they were glued to Merlin’s lips. Merlin looked to his as well — and it all looked so inviting that suddenly midnight seemed too far away.

 

“Can you believe it?” Gwaine asked, clapping both their backs. “They’ve finally kissed!”

 

And the moment was broken.

 

* * *

 

 

They all climbed up to the terrace as midnight approached. Although not very high, it did give some view of the fireworks that would soon dominate the city sky. Merlin had been at many different places during New Year, but never Camelot. Many, he was sure, would be more impressive, hardly any would feel so cozy. Together, under the fairy lights and holding the empty glass for the champagne that was yet to be opened, he could forget that he barely knew most of these people, that they had never met before this night.

 

The past didn’t matter anymore: this was his present, and this was his future. These people, this place, this feeling. It made him giddy with anticipation: two thousand and fifteen couldn’t start soon enough. He shared an open smile with Gwaine before he stopped next to Elena, and she gripped his hand tight at they started the countdown.

 

“Ten!” — Gwaine started, always the first, and they soon followed.

 

“Nine!”  — Merlin saw as Lance put his arm around Gwen’s shoulder, in a protective embrace.

 

“Eight!” — Mithian was looking at Leon from under her eyelashes as she counted, her thoughts clear on her face.

 

“Seven” — Percy and Mordred seemed to be in a bit of a rush, kissing already before the countdown finished. Or maybe they were just so wrapped in each other — finally, by what he had heard — that it was impossible to hear them.

 

“Six!” — Morgana’s voice sounded above all of theirs, as she climbed in one of the tables, bottle in hand, already shaking it.

 

“Five!” — Vivian had done the same, Elyan trying to keep her steady from where he was under her, as she stood in thin heels.

 

“Four!” — Sefa took hold of Elena’s other hand, and she let go of Merlin, moving to caress her girlfriend’s nape.

 

“Three” — Arthur was standing next to him now, but he was silent. Not counting. Just watching him, something shining on his eyes.

 

“Two” died on his lips as he looked back at Arthur, lost although he had never even known that he had been in such way. It didn’t matter.

 

“One” was all it was needed now.

 

Arthur leaned forward and Merlin closed his eyes, his lips tingling, drums rolling as he waited for the kiss -— a midnight peck, but so full of promise, so full of more, so full of everything he had never even dared to dream because it didn’t belong in real life.

 

It was a soft, simple touch, but it made everything in him explode. He put pressure on it, pressing his lips strongly against Arthur’s, not wanting to stop, even as they received a jet of champaign to their heads, mingling in their lips — but there was no point in rushing. This was the future. There would be time.

 

The look in Arthur’s eyes was as full of wonder as Merlin himself felt. It was the first minute of New Year, but, so far, it was already the best. He was walking on sunshine, on sunshowers, on sunbursts, the feeling started where they touched and spread throughout him like wildfire, and he had never experienced anything quite like it before, as if he was being seared anew, every crack closed up, and he was ready, ready for more, for the future, all at once as they slowly parted.

 

Then, of course, it all turned to hell.

 

* * *

 

 

Life is a very contradictory thing, Merlin had always thought so. Most of the time we’re alive, we’re thinking about dying — worrying about dying. People who don’t worry about dying and decide to live as much as they possibly could end up, well, dead before their time. So it’s not that much of a surprise that after finally figuring out the true meaning of bliss, he’d open his eyes to learn to true meaning of consternation.

 

Merlin had about one second to register Gwaine's face before he reacted, but one second seemed to last on forever as shock, disappointment, hurt and anger quickly flicked through it. He still had his arms around Morgana's waist, her face twisted in concern, when he started moving. For that second, it was as if reality was suspended and he could see all of them: Percy and Mordred still kissing, Lance whispering against Gwen's ear, Leon tending as he watched (predicted?) what would happen, Mithian's hard stare. He couldn't see Elena, Sefa, Elyan or Vivian from his position, but he had never been more aware of everyone around him.

 

Then, without warning, time came crashing down again. Gwaine was at their side, gripping Arthur and pulling him away from Merlin, his face red, and Arthur snapped quickly out of his mood and into Gwaine's.

 

"Really, Pendragon? REALLY?"

 

Arthur just raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

 

"What?"

 

"You met him five minutes ago and already you're kissing him?" Gwaine was speaking at barely more than a hiss, but his posture made it seem like shouting. Merlin coiled in himself like some scared snail as everyone noticed what was happening.

 

"That's a bit rich coming from you" Arthur said, his voice heavy with irony.

 

"Strangers!" He answered, his voice taut with emotion. "Unimportant people! It's completely different!"

 

Arthur laughed, and it was a dark, bitter sound. It made the hairs on Merlin's neck rise.

 

"Funny you should say that. As I recall, I was once one of those unimportant people."

 

He wasn't even trying to speak low now, his arms crossed against his chest, his posture defensive.

 

"A long time ago, yeah. And we changed that. Now, playing that game with someone you know I care about..."

 

"It's a midnight peck, not a game "

 

Gwaine's eyes showed how little he believed it. Merlin wasn't even sure what it was or not, but hearing it spoken of as if it were nothing made his chest hurt a bit.

 

"I don't know who you think you're fooling. It's clear it was more than that. "

 

Arthur snorted at it.

 

“This is your jealousy speaking, not logic. There was nothing — and I repeat nothing — to indicate that. And, actually, is that what you think of him? Of me? That this is what I’d do?”

 

“As you so kindly remembered me, Arthur, this is exactly how we met!”

 

“Yeah, right. Like I could forget that mistake” Arthur shook his head, and Gwaine closed his fists. “And now — after everything — everything we’ve done… I thought… We became friends…”

 

“Yeah, I thought so too” Gwaine answered, his jaw trembling in rage. “And you were trying to seduce my ex.”

 

“Do you even hear yourself now?” the blond asked, his shoulders tense. “It sounds to me as if you’re saying I’m being disloyal to you because I am — theoretically — trying to sleep with somebody you had a relationship with a decade ago while you-are-sleeping-with-my-sister” he enunciated each word clearly.

 

“Once” Gwaine spit.

 

“Two days ago!” Arthur hooted.

 

“One week” Morgana pipped in, equal parts amused and worried at the whole thing. “And it does take two to tango.”

 

Arthur dismissed her with a hand wave.

 

“You’re my sister.”

 

Gwaine let out an angry guffaw.

 

“Yes — she is your sister, and she’s great, and I was never secretive about wanting it. Anybody could have seen it coming from kilometres away. ”

 

“Hey!” Morgana interjected, mildly offended, and Gwen frowned at her.

 

“Well, he does have a point” her friend answered, before deepening her frown. “What’s happening in this life? I’m saying Gwaine has a point!”

 

Lance rubbed her back comfortingly.

 

“It’s different” Gwaine concluded, ignoring them.

 

“Yes, it is!” Arthur agreed, still seething. “She didn’t get out of my life ten years ago.”

 

“Merlin didn’t get out of my life ten years ago either! He never got out of my life!”

 

“So maybe he should’ve!” Arthur was almost shouting now, his voice loud. “If he had, you wouldn’t be having this ridiculous melt down because you still have unresolved feelings!” There was a hint of cruelty in his voice as he continued. “Keeping them, hanging onto them for years as if it could somehow save anything! Guess what, Gwaine? It’s never gonna happen! It’s done! Deal with it!”

 

Merlin was still reeling from the shock — he had never imagined, never seen, never considered the possibility that the breakup had been anything less than a relief for Gwaine. The way he had been, then — once they broke up — so free, so full of life, so alive, had made him feel like a jerk for not giving him up sooner. To hear that he still had (or at least his friends thought he had) some sort of feeling about him - well, it broke him in pieces, more than anything else, and he almost couldn’t breathe because guilt was crushing him. Still, the two of them had no time to see it, as they continued arguing, voices full on yelling now. Gwaine’s body was actually trembling as he answered.

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I’m not willing to discuss this with you — it’s just not the same. You might love your sister, but whatever happens between me and her? It’s not the same thing, it’s not the same way. I shouldn’t even need to explain — it’s not like I’d sleep with one of your exes!”

 

“You slept with Elena” Arthur replied, and Gwaine shook his head, disbelieving.

 

“You went on one date. One almost blind date — and you didn’t even kiss, it does not count. Maybe if I had slept with, I don’t know, Vivian? Isolde? Mithian? Mordred? Then maybe it would be excusable — but, oh, wait! It wouldn’t matter! You never had an ex that mattered! You never fell in love with any of them! You’re broken! I’m sorry — I’m broken too — but I wasn’t always broken, and you seem to have always been — you never had an ex that mattered like this — so, no, it’s not the same thing, and no, you don’t understand — you can’t.”

 

Arthur didn’t even reply to that, he just threw a punch at Gwaine, who skivvied it, and threw a punch back and in a flash the two of them were trading blows, and kicking and falling to the floor while most of them scurried out of the way while Leon and Percy rushed to pull them away from each other. Leon managed with some effort to disengage Arthur from it, and then Percy had an easy time out of holding Gwaine back. The two of them kept on trying to get back to each other, even as Gwaine’s eyebrow showed a gash and Arthur’s lower lip was cut.

 

“Let me show him!” Gwaine said, trying to get rid of Percy’s arm, but he was simply too big, and wasn’t even making so much of an effort that it stopped him from throwing Merlin a dirty look, as if he had been completely responsible for it.

 

Which perhaps he had, but he would never have even dreamed that Gwaine… Had he really been so blind, all those years?

 

Arthur just kept pleading with Leon.

 

“Let me go — let me go. I’m not going to hit him.”

 

Warily, Leon let go of him, still clearly ready to pull him back if the need arose. Arthur just looked at Gwaine, shook his head, spitting blood on the floor.

 

“If isn’t that ridiculous and ironic. I had no exes that matter? Oh, guess what, Gwaine? Guess what everyone around here came to tell me about — to ask — just guess Gwaine. I didn’t have any exes that mattered? True — I didn’t — not after you.”

 

He turned his back and left, leaving all of them stunned speechless and there was nothing — nothing — that could be done to fix this. And Merlin was left to wonder, not for the first time in his life, how things could so suddenly, so quickly, go so completely wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is he… Is he serious?” Gwaine asked, when he finally regained his speech, and Merlin could see how most of them seemed to have something of pity in their eyes as they looked at him. His friend fell onto the nearest chair, and some of them just did the same, sitting where they could, as if this was some sort of mismatched support group. “I mean… Me? Really? Really?”

 

“Why not you?” bristled Percy, in his defence.

 

Gwaine just shook his head, still trying to digest it.

 

“It was something so minor — and so long ago. And he stopped it, I could’ve… Well. I wouldn’t have stopped, if it were me.”

 

Leon’s face was caring and soft as he answered.

 

“He knew that. That’s why he stopped — before he fell, before he got too hurt.”

 

“And he did get really hurt” added Lance, still looking a little apologetic. “For weeks, he was… Weird. Away. Broken, somehow. We hadn’t seen him like that since… Well, since Valiant.”

 

Gwaine frowned, his face showing signs of anger again.

 

“I’m nothing like that guy” he shot back, clearly offended, and Gwen put a reassuring hand on his leg.

 

“We know, honey. We know. But it… messed him up, somehow.”

 

“And none of you thought of telling me? Warning me?” he looked at each of them in turn, and most of them looked away, but Gwen held his gaze.

 

“We didn’t know you that well to think…” she shook her head. “We didn’t even know how to tell you something like that.”

 

“So you just decided to let it become the proverbial elephant in the room while I knew nothing about it?” he asked, bewildered.

 

“Come on, Gwaine, how thick can you be?” Mithian asked, spot on.

 

“Pretty thick, I’d say” Percy muttered under his breath, with a shake of his head. “There is no real measure.”

 

“Exactly” he agreed, before frowning and noticing the insult. “How could you not tell me?”

 

“It was just so obvious” Sefa said, finally, her voice tiny. “We all thought… I think we all thought you knew.”

 

“And what good would be telling you? Trying to make you not do something?” Mordred asked, reasonably. “It’d be as useful as telling Morgana not to do something.”

 

“Hey!” Morgana said, gesturing her hand as if to ask what was up with this. “I can be reasonable.”

 

Gwen snorted and Mordred sniggered, and Lance was the one to regain focus.

 

“Nevertheless” he said, with a small smile. “We just hoped… I don’t know. That it would fade? And maybe it did, a bit, but…”

 

Soon all of them were giving explanations and examples, and Merlin was just so completely out of place here — this was all so not him, and there was nothing he could do but to stay quiet and think — think about this own mistakes, about the way he had been even blinder than Gwaine, and how he had hurt him — at what he could do to stop it from happening again.

 

The answer that came was almost obvious, so simple and so clear that he knew exactly what he would do.

 

But before he could put his plan in motion, there was one thing he had to do.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry” were the first words out of Merlin’s mouth as soon as the door opened. It was clear that all the adrenaline had left Arthur’s body, and he was left looking tired and hurt. “If I had known — well, any of it, I wouldn’t have…”

 

Arthur didn’t answer anything, but he let go of the door and walked inside, clearly letting Merlin in. He closed the door behind him, still unsure of what to do or where to stand.

 

“I was a bit of a jerk” Arthur admitted, sitting down at the couch and hiding his face in his hands. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have led you on. I’m sorry I ruined your party — well, everyone’s party.”

 

Merlin looked at the other side of the street, in the direction where Mordred’s place would be, and shrugged.

 

“Somehow, I think they’ll get through it.”

 

Arthur snorted at it and nodded.

 

“I am sorry” he repeated. “I’m very sorry. Gwaine is right — I never... And you — well. I just met you, but I can already say you deserve more than that.”

 

There had been something there, undeniably, something quite unique, but it was not the reason for his coming. The reason, honestly, had more to do with what Arthur and Gwaine had said — about being broken. It seemed such a waste, and it made Merlin want to do anything he could to help.

  


“I didn’t come — for, well, more. Or anything. I just… I just got worried.”

 

Merlin frowned. It was clear that all the romance was getting in his head, and it was better if he kept the focus.

 

“I’ll talk to Olaf first thing tomorrow. I’ll tell him it was a mistake — that I can’t take the job — and then… In time, you two will patch that up and I’ll… I’ll keep away.”

 

It would hurt, letting go of the dreams and plans he had built about living in Camelot, about working at such a big production company. It would mean setting his career back, and it would mean cutting some corners if he didn’t get another position quickly, but it would be so little when compared to the idea of hurting someone he cared for so deeply as Gwaine — hurting him even more than he already unwittingly had, that was. Arthur, it seemed, was not having any of that, and just kept on shaking his head.

 

“No — don’t do it. I won’t accept it. You stay — and do all things — and eventually” he sighed. “We’ll be fine soon, even if you stay.”

 

Merlin doubted that, and wouldn’t risk it either way.

 

“You can’t stop me” he reminded Arthur, and the man lifted his head and met his gaze head-on.

 

“Don’t doubt me” he said, and took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have to give up your dreams just because I’m broken.”

 

“Aren’t we all broken?” Merlin asked, sitting down next to him. “At least a little?”

 

“I suppose…” Arthur shook his head. “Though… It is so weird. My whole life revolves around romance. Everyone around me just seem to be… So quick at falling in love and I… I don’t think I have really fallen in love once since I was still in university; and even then… I’m not so sure, now, that it was really loving him or loving the idea of being in love. I mean — I know what I said, about Gwaine, but even that…” another tiny shake of his head preceded his next words. “It’s as if falling in love is like free falling from a ledge, and I… I was at the brink of it when I noticed it wouldn’t go anywhere and… Ever since then, not even… Not even close.”

 

Merlin let out a small laugh at this — it was incredible, almost impossible, how true this was.

 

“You know, when I broke up with Gwaine” he started, trying to find the right words to explain. “I was… We were not in love anymore. I’m not sure we ever were properly in love like those people who you write about, that we see about and hear about everywhere. I loved him long before my teenage mind decided it was romantic. He got me in a way even Will, who I knew longer, didn’t really. And it made it easy, oh-so-easy, to fall in love with him, like teens do. And when we decided to break up, years later, it was… It was just because we had gone back to loving each other as we did before getting together. It was not… Not romantic anymore, we we just trying to cling to it.”

 

He could feel Arthur looking at him, but he kept on staring at his hands, it was easier like this, he could ignore that they had known each other for mere hours. He could forget he was actually putting himself out there for the first time in forever. He could just… Speak.

 

“And I thought, well, that we should have it to the fullest — have all of it, again, with other people. After that, well, Gwaine seemed… So much like himself, like he should be, so much lighter and happier and I… I may have been a fool to believe him, but I did. Specially because… I wasn’t happy at all. I didn’t feel that way. All I felt was that I had lost a limb and eventually… Eventually, I think, you sort of get used to it. You stop thinking, stop feeling, because if you feel it just hurts too much. We grew apart — we had already grown apart — and there would be no point in hanging to it. But I kept hoping — waiting — for something new, something coming, something to sweep me off my feet and… For the longest time, there was nothing. Nothing at all. People came and people went, and I was just… Hanging in there, waiting for one of them to sweep me off my feet. Eventually, there was this guy… And he really, really did it.”

 

“What happened?” Arthur prodded, and Merlin could almost hear himself as if it was somebody else speaking, as if it all had happened to another person.

 

“The usual. He lied. He was too jealous. He tried to control me. It was… Suffocating, eventually. I just kept on giving and giving and getting less and less and one day… One day I walked into my own apartment to find him in my bed, with my former roommate” he exhaled, longly. “So I just.. Left. Quit my job. Started fresh. Didn’t speak to anyone who had known me — who had seen us together. I just… I couldn’t face any of those people, people who had tried to warn me — Gwaine had tried to warn me so many times — and I just… slipped. Closed myself. Barricaded. For a while, it helped. I got better, I got stronger, I became… The man I was before him. Then, when I decided I was ready again — ready to face life instead of hiding under a rock — well, I came here.”

 

Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s knee, starling him out of it.

 

“I’m sorry” his voice was quiet, but his eyes were earnest. “I’m very sorry.”

 

Merlin shrugged. It didn’t matter.

 

“My last — well, first, really, but last — boyfriend was the same. Exactly the same. With the added bonus of some punching — and that Gwen and Lance wouldn’t let me just lock myself away to wallow in my misery. He was the thing what broke me, not Gwaine. Gwaine was just…”

 

“The cherry on top of it?” Merlin guessed, and Arthur nodded, with a tight smile.

 

“Yes. I should apologise to him. I didn’t… I understand his point. I shouldn’t have and… It was wrong of me.”

 

Merlin shook his head, not disagreeing, but somewhat exasperated that it hadn’t been obvious at first. Before he could voice any sort of response, there was a knock on the door. It made the two of them look sharply to it, but the person wasn’t waiting for them to react and just opened the door. Gwaine stood there, his face a mask of sadness and regret, and just a tiny little bit of surprise at seeing Merlin.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll just…” he started apologising, and Merlin stood up.

 

“No — I was just leaving. You come in. I’ll… Just go back to the party.”

 

Gwaine nodded, grateful, and Merlin squeezed his arm to give him strength as they crossed each other on the door. His old friend just gave him a terse nod, as if thanking him for the extra support.

 

Now, he could only hope that they’d be able to solve things between them.

 

* * *

 

 

To say that coming back to the party was awkward would be an understatement, but there was no way out of it — his wallet and his money were still locked somewhere in the house with his coat. Everyone was still upstairs, and by the sounds of it, were about to get the party back to full swing. He just wasn’t in the mood, not anymore, and him coming back might as well dampen their mood again. He walked into the hallway, trying to divine in which of the three rooms the coats were. The first one was a bathroom, and the second one was locked — possibly Mordred’s room — but the third one was open.

 

He came in doing as little noise as he could, but there was someone already in there. Sitting in the almost fully darkened study, just the fairy lights giving some light, Morgana was staring out the window, a glass of something in her hand. Wine, perhaps.

 

“Sorry” he said, feeling wrong-footed. “I’m just going to get my coat and…”

 

“Run away?” she asked him, and while the words were sharp, there was a lot of understanding in her voice. “Oh, Merlin…”

 

He had been crouching in his attempt of being unobtrusive, but this made him stand and look at her.

 

“How…”

 

“It’s on your face” she said, as if she could see it. “But — can I give you a word of wisdom? It won’t help.”

 

“You don’t know that” Merlin disagreed, coming back to look for his coat. “With time and space…”

 

“He will completely move on” Morgana finished for him, and snorted. “I thought so too, once, long time ago.”

 

Her words gave him pause, unsure if he was ready or willing to hear more today. There had been far too many stories.

 

“In the end… I lost one of my best friends, and to this day, things are awkward between us. I thought it was justified, and when I saw him and Mithian together, and so happy, I thought it was justified but now… Now I just wonder if I just didn’t make it worse, make it _harder_ for him to move on, all those what-ifs and too little real conversation. Sure, coming to your own house and finding it suddenly filled with roses and a man you’re not even seeing with a rock the size of Texas can be scary, but in the end…” she shook her head, then laughed. “Now, for everything he might have said, _that_ is not a risk you run with Gwaine.”

 

The very idea of Gwaine proposing — to him or to anyone, really — was laughable, and he joined her.

 

“I suppose not, but still…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t… I can’t keep hurting him like that.”

 

The pattern of the fairy lights changed, and for a moment, he could see her face clearly. It was filled with sympathy and a bit of pity.

 

“Oh, Merlin…” she repeated, with a sigh. “I don’t think it matters — None of us had ever heard a word about you from either him or Percy until Christmas” she told him, and in spite of any and everything, it just added a sharp pang to his heart to think that he had hurt Gwaine so much to the point of becoming a dark secret from the past. It had never been his intention. “I don’t think… Whatever _Arthur_ thought, or some of the others… I don’t think any of them really _talked_ to Gwaine after hearing it, or after you two met again.”

 

“But you have” he guessed, from her tone, which was clearly worried and pensive in equal parts.

 

“I did” she agreed, with a slow nod. “And… Merlin, it’s not even _you_ ” she told him, with a sigh. “It’s not _you_ he misses, it’s the… The feeling of having someone who _gets_ you, who _knows_ you — instinctively, naturally, easily. Not _you_ because _you_ are not that person anymore; what has been hurting him this whole time is that he _can’t_ let himself find someone who would make him feel like that — safe and thrilled at once — while everyone else seems perfectly capable of it.”

 

The irony of it, how closely this mirrored his conversation with Arthur was not lost on him, and that _she_ knew the feeling first-hand was also obvious. What a bunch of misfits they made. Still, doubts were always nagging at his mind, guilt was a powerful fuel that never stopped giving.

 

“That’s what he said” Merlin replied, his questions creeping in his voice without his permission.

 

“He was not lying” Morgana assured him, and he sniggered at that.

 

“How do you know? He’s a pretty good liar, Gwaine.”

 

Morgana looked straight to his face before answering.

 

“Yeah. He might be. But, trust me — he _wasn't_ lying about this.”

 

Looking at her expression and remembering the easy, effortless way the two of them had complemented each other without even trying, he doubted Gwaine could have lied to her if he wanted to. She would have seen right through it because, whatever else Gwaine may or not think, notice or outright refuse to see, it was _very_ clear that he had found someone else who got him — who maybe got him _better_ than Merlin ever could have.

 

“I believe you” he answered, finally. “Still, he and Arthur…”

 

Morgana sighed again, shaking her head. It was clear that their behaviour had exasperated her.

 

“I think… I think it just _hurts_ a bit for him to see Arthur — who had always been in the exactly same boat as he was — to so smoothly and without even trying to find something that was _exactly_ what he had been missing — and that the person to give it to him was _you_ — it was just… Confusing. Frustrating.”

 

Merlin frowned at it. What on Earth the two of them had in mind to upscale what had been a short — admittedly world-shattering, but short — kiss was almost beyond anything he could understand.

 

“I don’t think…” Merlin started, but Morgana waved him away with a movement that gave away the fact that she and Arthur had grown together.

 

“Of course you don’t — you’re like Gwaine in that, absolutely oblivious. Then again, so is Arthur, it may be a _man_ thing. But that thing? The way you met? The conversation you shared? Arthur couldn’t have written that if he wanted to; there was no faking _that_ sort of rapport. And that _kiss_? Believe me, Merlin, you’d have _killed_ to get something like that on camera. There was no denying it — and Gwaine saw it, and it hurt — but I think… In the end, I think will get over it more quickly if you don’t _run_ and make him guilty on the top of everything.”

 

Honestly, Merlin could barely wait to leave, he couldn’t see it — whatever the Pendragons siblings thought it would be resolved so easily, seemed like an impossible puzzle piece for him, and he had never intended to leave without talking to Gwaine, even if it was going to hurt, even if he was dreading it, even if he feared he would never be forgiven, never undo the hurt he had caused and still… Still it was needed. Then, maybe — just maybe — they would have some peace when he finally decided he couldn’t stay.


	5. Big Days

For all his talk about apologising, now that Gwaine was in front of him, Arthur didn’t know what to say. It needed to happen, he knew, just like he knew, while writing, when a plot needed to be solved, and this particular thread of resentment, guilt and pain had gone on for long enough. For all he had yelled earlier, he was guilty of something eerily similar, and he knew it, but being aware of your shit and actually overcoming your shit were two very different things — the first he had achieved, oh-so-painfully, after leaving Mordred’s. The second, he had no idea how to achieve, but he knew it started with talking.

 

Talking about his _feelings_.

 

Arthur didn’t talk about feelings, if he could avoid it. He wrote them, he exorcised his emotions in words put in another’s mouth, but baring himself for real it was hard and took a lot out of him. He didn’t know what to say or where to start, he could only stare at Gwaine’s slashed eyebrow, the way he stood there, stupidly staring at him, mouth moving without forming words. Arthur suspected he made much of the same pathetic figure as his friend.

 

“I’m sorry” Gwaine voiced first, but he had always been the strongest between the two of them. “I shouldn’t have…”

 

“I know” Arthur dismissed, and replying was easier, but still unbearably hard. “Me too. I shouldn’t have… It was stupid.”

 

Silent took hold of them again, and Gwaine looked down, blushing a bit — a sight Arthur had never expected to see.

 

“Why did you never tell me?” Arthur snorted at it.

 

“Would _you_ have said anything, if you were in my place?” he asked, raising his eyebrow, and Gwaine shrugged.

 

“Maybe. I don’t know. Probably not. It’s just…”

 

“Yeah” Arthur answered, and if those had been his characters instead of his life, he would probably have deleted the whole thing and started from scratch, with actual sentences that made actual sense. Somehow, in life, it didn’t bother him. He didn’t need anything more than a tiny apology, not when he had been in the wrong too. Not when he _knew_ Gwaine had been in his shoes — and bigger, worse shoes as Gwaine had reminded him. That thing between them had been almost nothing — just crushed hope, not crushed soul. “It also wasn’t…” he shrugged. “I think… Early on, it was… Almost. Almost something. But then… I’m not the kind to get myself in an announced disaster. I just… I knew it would be disastrous, so, yeah. I just” he shrugged again, not looking at Gwaine anymore. “It was too easy to get out of it, and _that_ made me realise just how broken…” he sighed, because it was stupid to explain, Gwaine knew it well enough, so well he had used it against Arthur. “Now, you know that lot. They just couldn’t… And the fact that they kept nudging at it… Made it worse.”

“Worst people ever” Gwaine muttered, clearly annoyed. “Can’t believe none of them said anything to me.” Arthur snorted, and wondered if either of them would ever hear the end of this. “Still” he continued, eventually. “She _is_ your sister… Very enthusiastic, but… _your sister_.”

 

Arthur threw a cushion at him for the comment, and Gwaine dodged it.

 

“Don’t need to hear it, mate!” he complained, and Gwaine leered, and the two of them laughed.

 

Eventually, it would all be fine.

 

* * *

 

 

Gwaine made but the most cursory visit to Mordred’s place, picking up his things and promising he would be around for brunch before leaving, Merlin in tow. His friend, usually talkative to the point of being called bumbling was uncharacteristically quiet, which was not at all unexpected after everything Gwaine and Arthur had put him through tonight. What a terrible host he had become, and all for nothing. None of them said a single word during the admittedly short cab ride, apart from giving the address and answering with zero enthusiasm to the driver’s wishes of a great new year.

 

It hadn’t started well, that much was obvious. There was little he could do now but hope that all those superstitions about how the way the year started predicted its whole course were nothing but idle nonsense. They still hadn’t spoken since — well, since before midnight, their tiny exchange at Arthur’s notwithstanding. He was _not_ looking forward to the conversation that would surely come, because Merlin was _nothing_ like Arthur in that aspect. He would talk, and be very to the point about what he felt, even if it took him some time to get to the correct words.

 

The house was still in the dark when his voice cut the air.

 

“I’m sorry I was such a lousy friend” Merlin said, and Gwaine decided not to switch them on, he didn’t think he could truly face him then.

 

“You did nothing wrong” he replied, putting his coat down. “I’m not _angry_ at you or anything.”

 

“Yes, you are” Merlin disagreed, and as his eyes adapted to the darkness, he could see his arms crossed against his chest. “Stop, Gwaine, stop trying to mollycoddle things for me, stop _pretending_. I can take it — you have _the right_ to be angry. I was awful. I didn’t see — I didn’t _want_ to see. I allowed myself to pull further and further away. I kept you in the dark about me, and I kept myself in the dark about you, and then I just _showed up_ , expecting things to be fine when they had never _truly_ been fine in the last ten years. And I _continued_ to be blind, to the point of ruining your friendships. You _are_ angry, and you _can_ be angry — and you can _say it_ , I can _take it_. I’m not a child you have to protect, not anymore.”

 

If he was honest with himself, Gwaine probably _had_ felt angry — right at the moment, seeing the two of them, the way they looked at each other, so completely wrapped in their own world, so completely taken and so in the same wavelength after just a few hours. Whatever he had _thought_ had been easy between him and Merlin, or that he just _got_ him was nothing — absolutely nothing — compared to what he had witnessed. It was painful, and hurtful, and it _had_ made him angry but he had burned through it, and at this point, he felt nothing but frustration and dread.

 

“Not saying I _wasn’t_ angry” he answered, finally. “I’m saying I’m _not_ angry.”

 

Merlin didn’t have a reply for that, and Gwaine didn’t even know what else to say. None of them moved, and the silence stretched, not quite as heavy as before, but far from comfortable. It was still, even after all those years, weird to feel so self-conscious and so unsure around Merlin.

 

“Some people seem to think you never got over me” Merlin said, after some time, and there was no need to wonder _who_ he meant by it; his friends all seemed to be waiting for the moment he would break or drop down on one knee. As if he was some sort of… Well, Leon. “While others… Others think it’s not me, or even _us,_ but the _idea_ of how it was on the good moments.”

 

“I may have come across a bit too nostalgic, that’s all” Gwaine dismissed, and Merlin was clearly looking straight at him, trying to decipher his face through the darkness. The light outside didn’t help him, but Gwaine could see his friend’s face, if barely, and his eyes shone but there was clear distress in his face.

 

“I think you may have been holding on to some… Old idea, some… Loving something that doesn’t exist anymore, someone who is long gone, dead and buried. Loving the thing you missed as if it were still real.” Merlin’s words shot a hole in his heart, even though he knew them to be true — hadn’t he said the same thing a few hours before? It didn’t make them any easier to hear, it didn’t make it any less painful, but it did make it all so much more real. “And I think… I think you know that. I think you know it’s not me — it has never been me, we _broke up_ because it was not me you loved anymore, nor you that I loved — but still you can’t _let yourself see_ things that are right in front of you; you just won’t let yourself accept that there are people out there, so close, that _get you_ in a way I never did in the past and much less _could_ now. And I think that… While I’m here, it’ll just get worse.”

 

Gwaine stopped at this, not believing his ears and shook his head. Some things never truly changed, and Merlin was still a self-sacrificing idiot.

 

“Don’t say you’re thinking of moving — oh, well, _not_ moving in the case.”

 

“It’s for the best” Merlin assured him, twisting his hands in a nervous movement. “Gwaine, I don’t want to get between…”

 

“You’re getting between nothing!” he said, gesturing it all away. “Don’t be stupid, Merlin. This has been your dream job since you’ve been in Uni, or close enough. Don’t waste this opportunity because… You’re absolutely right, I _have_ been clinging to the idea of something that is long gone and now I know there will never be anything quite like it, and that there is _nothing_ here” he gestured between them, to make things as clear as possible. “But do you know _why_ I know it? Because of _today_ , because for the first time in _years_ I was with you, and not just with you and other people, and finally I noticed I _did_ want other people around, because it was just not the same and it would never be, and of course, it had been exactly _why_ things fell apart in the first place. _Now_ I know, and I am _fine_ with it, fine with the loss, but if you _leave_ … Then, it will just mean that our friendship was really a mistake, the whole time we tried, the last ten years we — I — fought to keep it in spite of all these feelings, because it’ll have only worked because of lies and hiding. If you leave… It’ll just break us both even more, and who knows… Don’t make me Leon, Merlin.”

 

The words had seemed to just flow out of him, as if he had no control over them, and he suspected the ending made very little sense to his friend, but he was past caring — he could _never_ forgive himself if, on the top of everything else, all the guilt and pain he imagined Merlin was going through — the one he felt, right now, about Arthur in spite of his friend’s words in their half-arsed conversation — Gwaine had also been responsible for him giving up his dreams.

 

Merlin didn’t answer, not right away. Gwaine heard him sniffling, and he felt the strong urge to hold him and tell him it would be alright — even if he couldn’t promise that — even if he couldn’t know — but he knew it was the worst idea at the moment.

“Just… Stay. You don’t have to be friends with me if you don’t want to, but don’t… Don’t do this. Don’t throw your dreams away because I’m broken.”

 

Merlin snorted in the middle of his crying when he heard it, which made him a bit confused.

 

“Arthur said something like that” he muttered, and Gwaine grinned against his will. The princess wasn’t all that bad.

 

“And he was absolutely right — but if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll deny it to my last breath.”

 

Merlin started to snort again, but ended up choking on his tears and coughed instead. It made Gwaine snicker. Silence was more comfortable now, but he was still waiting, still wishing for some sort of peaceful resolution as Merlin sighed.

 

“Promise me — you’ve got to swear it — that if you ever think my presence is making it harder to let go — or anything, really — that you’ll tell me.”

 

“I swear” Gwaine answered, without delay, because, honestly, he had no wish to lose even more than he had already lost. “You can trust me — the first hint of _anything_ and I’ll say it.”

 

He couldn’t see his friend’s face, but he could hear the watery grin in his voice, even as it spoke so low.

 

“Then I’ll stay.”

 

Gwaine could finally breathe easier — guilt still there, but manageable — as he gestured ahead.

 

“Come on then — your bedroom is through another way.”

 

* * *

 

 

Morgana had expected the lunch thing to be much more awkward than it was, but it seemed that whatever Gwaine and her brother had spoken of the night before, it had done away with much of the stress. Merlin seemed, naturally, very subdued and kept to himself even as Gwen — always kind — and Elena tried to add him to the conversation that they were having around the left overs of the previous day’s supper. Most of them had slept over at Mordred’s — spread through the bedrooms, on the floor of the living room, over at Arthur and Elyan’s apartment (although Elyan himself had slept at Vivian’s, again, because she wouldn’t _dream_ of doing something so undignified as pilling up with the rest of them mortals) and returned to Mordred’s as they woke up.

 

The house owner was _almost_ the last to show up, his hair still wet and curling on his head, and a big grin on his face.

 

“Morning” he said, pouring some of the coffee Gwen had made. His smile didn’t diminish as he took the cup to his lips, and Gwaine, of course, was the first to hoot.

“Had a _good_ night Mordred?” he teased, and Mordred didn’t deem to reply, but the twinkle in his eyes gave the answer away. No one was surprised, not really since they had barely parted during the night before, and it had been _the perfect plan_ because a little push was all that there was left to get them together. “And where, I beg, is Percy?”

 

“Still asleep” he answered, just a hint of blushing tinting his cheeks.

 

“What, really?” Gwaine asked, leering. “He’s _that_ tired? Did you exhaust him with your youth?”

 

“Let the kid alone, Gwaine” Arthur told him, but he was clearly enjoying it. “He hasn’t even had his coffee yet.”

 

“I’m surprised he can even walk, that’s all” Gwaine said, and Arthur sniggered at it, which made Gwaine turn to him, then to Mordred and after that to the close bedroom door. “Really? I mean… Sure, but… Really?”

 

They all laughed at this, his point quite obvious in spite of not having been voiced out loud. Mordred raised an eyebrow, his smirk fully showing.

 

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know” he teased back, and Gwaine gave him a full appraisal.

 

“That’s my boy!” he said, standing up to mess with Mordred’s hair, and the younger man laughed. Morgana just shook her head.

 

“I believe you meant mine” Percy’s voice came from the hallway, and they all turned to look at him. He was clearly flushed, but his eyes were completely attached to Mordred as he came near, putting his massive hand on his lower back and leaning down to give him a peck on the lips.

 

“Good morning!” Gwaine said, his tone of voice showing how offended he was about being ignored.

 

“Morning” Percy answered, gruffly, now holding Mordred, who turned towards him as much as he could, offering the cup.

 

“Coffee?” he asked, his voice low and intimate and those two were just going to be as sickeningly sweet as Gwen and Lance, she could bet.

 

“Yes — but later. I need to shower first and… Just wondering where you were.”

 

“Everyone was already here” Morgana offered, and Percy nodded, letting go of Mordred and rubbing his face. “Like a good host, he came to say hello — who am I kidding, he probably smelled the coffee and ran as fast as he could.”

 

“Can’t blame him” Percy replied, before turning his back and heading back towards the bathroom. Mordred’s eyes followed him for a moment, before he took the cup to his hands, gulping it all as quickly as he could, and starting to follow.

 

“Gotta, erm, get him a towel” he said, as if anyone around would believe it, but they didn’t say anything. As the room’s door closed, her eyes met Gwaine’s, and the two of them couldn’t hold it any longer, falling down in peals of laughter.

 

“You’re terrible people” Gwen said, slapping each in turn. “Let them _be_! I _bet_ anything that _either of you_ would be doing the same thing in his place.”

 

“Unless you were together, in which case, you wouldn’t even have _left_ the bedroom to begin with” Lance agreed.

 

That gave them both a pause, a moment of shared glances as they had no idea how to react. It was a second, but it was enough to have them all piling on them and teasing them, making scandalous remarks and questions about their night together that Morgana couldn’t really answer — she would get the whole story out of Gwaine, eventually. Unlike Percy and Mordred, they took it with grace, sharing their fun. She would miss this — all of them and their crazy antics — when she left in the following morning.

 

In the corner of her eye, she could see Merlin smiling at their jokes and how her brother’s eyes never truly left him and she could do nothing but _hope_ that it would come to everything it could be — and that Gwaine would be fine with that.

 

* * *

 

 

In spite of how tumultuous was start of his life in Camelot, or perhaps exactly because it had been so drenched in chaos, Merlin felt that it was quite easy to adapt to the rest. Gwaine was still a very much messy person — Hunith would have a fit if she saw his flat — but he had people come and clean it constantly enough that it didn’t completely drive him crazy; their work schedules weren’t all that different, but both were hectic, and most days they’d just drop dead on the couch with take away and watch mindless TV mostly in silence.

 

Work was… A bit overwhelming, and he was truly grateful for Leon’s existence, because the man was a godsend. He made it his job to acquaint Merlin with everyone in all parts of the company (not that Merlin was very good at remembering all those names, but still), and to walk him through most of the productions he was going to be dealing with. As a field producer, he was extremely involved to many different parts of the filming, and it made him the perfect person to help Merlin settle in. Still, there were _a lot_ of people around and many different things to learn, and some days Merlin felt as if his head was working non-stop even after he went home.

Arthur he saw little, as this was normally the season where he was drowning in rewrites and revision and what-not, which meant he wasn’t at the office all that much. Mostly, they met at the pub in front of his house, where the whole group could often be found. The bartender was ancient and a bit creepy, but he took an instant liking to Merlin, which helped too. It was so easy, there, to feel as if Camelot was the place he should have been for most of his life, as all of them welcomed him in their own way and even Percy’s distrust eased a little.

 

Merlin had promised himself he would _not_ spend more than one month at Gwaine’s, but the schedule he set to himself was all out of place and he had done virtually no progress in finding himself an apartment apart from bookmarking a few adds and never even finding time to call the agent when the last week of January rolled in. They were all at Arthur’s house — where, he had soon found out, it was _not_ uncommon that the door would not be locked and people would just come in at all times and join them. Someone had found a couple of old bean bag chairs, which, according to Lance, had been the first thing they bought to the apartment, and added it to the couch and armchair set, making for places for people to sit. Elena and Sefa were wrapped in one of them, their backs to the door, with Leon sitting next to them. Arthur was on his desk chair, behind Lance’s place on the sofa, Gwen in the middle and Mithian closer to Leon. The two of them and Gwaine — on the armchair next to where Merlin tried to do something resembling sitting — were talking about football or something similar, which he was listening to with just half an ear when Elyan and Vivian burst in.

 

“We’re moving in together!” the two of them announced, in a cloud of happiness so big that they mistook their incredulity for astonishment. It was half a beat before Elena jumped from the floor, yelling.

 

“Congratulations!” she chirped, and the rest of them followed, except for Gwaine and Arthur.

 

“Oh, Elyan, what did she do to you?” Gwaine asked, sadly, but clapped his back either way. Arthur just seemed continuously stupefied.

 

“A _little_ forewarning would have been _great”_ he said, shaking his head. “When… How…?”

 

“Not until early March” Elyan offered, putting his arm around Vivian. “Vivian’s current lease will run out, and we’ve already seen a few places we liked…”

 

“We’re really glad for you” Lance said, although Gwen’s face was failing to hide that she thought it was a bad idea.

 

They popped up a champagne to celebrate, but soon Vivian was ready to leave, saying she had had her limit of chaos for the day. It was not an unusual comment from her, but it was still not pleasant. She had barely left when Gwen started to speak.

 

“Are you sure, Elyan? This is so soon! You’ve _barely_ been together!”

 

“Over one year” he answered, with a shrug. “It’s long enough — not everyone lives in your slow pace, Gwen.”

 

“No, I know” she said, with a tiny shake of her head. “Still… It’s just… Do you even know how hard it is? Living with someone?”

 

“I’ve been living with _Arthur_ ” he pointed out, and Arthur bristled, while Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. “And I’m not even sleeping with him as an incentive to deal with his crap.”

 

Elyan had just said it when all of them just looked around with equally creeped out faces.

 

“Too much?” he asked, and they all agreed in a not-quite-chorus of “too much”.

 

“And what about Arthur, hum?” Gwen continued, fierce in her role of older sister. “You’re just going to abandon him like that?”

 

“I’m not a stray!” the man complained, but they all ignored him as she continued.

 

“Someone’s gotta look after him!”

 

“Again — not a dog” he insisted and Elyan looked at him, amused.

 

“No — dogs are nice and seem happy when you get home — you’re more of a cat, lazy, cocky, needs other people to basically pour you food, and often ignores your roommates completely.”

 

“I’m _not…_ ” Arthur started, but he saw the total agreement in Lance’s and Gwen’s expression, all fight left him. “Oh god. I’m a cat, ain’t I?”

 

Gwaine slapped him in the back, teasing instead of comforting.

 

“There are many crazy cat ladies around, Arthur, I’m sure we can find one to keep you.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes at it, and Gwen kept on nagging her brother.

 

“So, _where_ are we finding someone to make sure he doesn’t die?”

 

Elyan looked around wildly for one second, before finding Merlin and opening a smile.

 

“Are you a cat person?” he asked, and Merlin just laughed, a bit confused.

 

“I can be” he answered, smiling. “Why?”

“Merlin can move in” Elyan said, with a grin. “You were looking for a place to live, weren’t you?”

 

“Yes, but…” he tried, to explain why this was a supremely awkward idea.

 

“So, this is _perfect_!” Elyan insisted, while the lot of them didn’t even react. “I move in with Vivian, Merlin moves in with Arthur and Gwaine can go back to prowling Camelot for shags — it seems to have been a rough month, mate — and everyone is _happy_.”

 

And Merlin was about to protest, he really was, when Arthur looked at him and at Elyan, a considering expression in his face before he said.

 

“Okay — yeah, it could work.”

 

“It could?” he and Gwaine asked at once.

 

“Yeah, sure” Arthur said, with a shrug. “If you’re okay with it, I mean, don’t feel like you _have to_ but — yes. I think it can work. We work at the same place, and it’s an easy commute, and it’s close to everyone’s house and the room would just be empty so… Yeah. If you want to…”

 

Merlin looked at Arthur and what he saw there was determination. It was bound to be a bit awkward, and it was obvious to any and everyone, but Arthur wanted to prove them wrong — and, suddenly, Merlin wanted to prove them wrong too, to completely put the New Year’s debacle behind them, but before he could accept, he needed to make sure it wouldn’t just make it worse. He looked at Gwaine, who still seemed a bit stunned, but grinned.

 

“I won’t say I don’t miss having the place to myself…” he said with a tiny shrug, and Arthur clapped his back.

 

“It’s settled then” Elyan said, and Gwen now was sharing equally worried looks between them all, and there was nothing to be done but to prove her wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

Living with Merlin, Arthur noticed soon enough, was extremely awkward. For all that they barely had met, there was always that _thing_ hanging in the air, that reminder that they were almost strangers. Of course, both would rather die than admit that their friends’ worries had been founded, because neither was very good at accepting defeat gracefully. So, whenever the rest of the group was around, they’d present an united front, and funnily enough, although it was acting and pretending, it was _easy_. The things they said, the way they acted, didn’t seem forced at all. Like an well-oiled machine rolling together.

 

It was a bit harder when Morgana came for Easter, because the harpy would stay there _all the time_ but he felt confident they could make it. They would just have to… Try and stay as friendly as they could, as they usually were in front of other people. It was not a _normal_ friendly, but, so far, none of them had said anything about how it was obvious they could barely talk.

 

Which, actually, wasn’t the case. They often _didn’t_ talk, but it wasn’t so much that they didn’t know what to say, but that they didn’t _have to_. Merlin could understand Arthur’s need for silence and quiet effortlessly, and would often amuse himself with his own laptop and earplugs, his room’s door closed and Arthur could barely hear his muffled laughter at some silly joke. Sometimes, they would watch things together, and then he’d laugh openly, but never speak in the middle of it like Elyan had, and for this alone, he was grateful. They _would_ sometimes pause a movie to discuss little details about the angle, the camera, the photography, the plot, the acting — but _never_ would Merlin talk over the scenes or interrupt them.

 

He was also quite organised and neat, and more than that, he seemed to mind how cluttered Arthur’s desk was and would try to organise it once a week. Mostly it ended up with Arthur’s papers missing, and some yelling, but it didn’t last long. Arthur was snappy, he knew, but Merlin had his own sass and gave as good as he got, and sometimes it seemed more like _playing_ than it did like _arguing_.

 

None of them were morning people, unlike Lance and Gwen, so there was blessed silence until it was _absolutely necessary_ to wake up and get out. Mostly, it was a pacific existence and Arthur didn’t completely hate being his roommate, but Morgana’s coming made it all feel more strained. It was a gift she had.

 

Mordred had picked her up at the airport with Percy (joined at the hip, as it had become usual since New Year), and she seemed to have already been brought up to date to what everyone was doing lately by the time she showed up at their door with her little carry on bag. It was a small thing, and surely less than he would have expected her to bring for three days — considering how she had almost sunk his whole bedroom in clothes to stay ten days, but he supposed she’d be busy most of the time. He hugged her at the door, before letting her in, and Merlin came out of his room with a shy smile.

 

“Hello” he said, and Morgana smiled.

 

“I’m glad you didn’t run away, Merlin” was her answer, and the two of them shared a look that he couldn’t really interpret.

 

“Well, you know, I _wanted_ to, but Elyan had grown tired of babysitting…” he quipped, and she laughed.

 

The two of them would kill him in three days, he was sure.

 

“I doubt it, if he decided to move in with Vivian” she added, redirecting her mean streak, and Merlin just shrugged.

 

“Well, benefits and all that” he said, knowingly. “I mean — look at Arthur — then at Vivian — and you can see why Elyan would choose her.”

 

Morgana laughed again, as Mordred came in, car keys in his hand, and Percy walked in with a secondary bag, incredibly big. Ah, that made sense.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me?” Mordred asked, for what seemed to be the tenth time.

 

“Not getting in the way of a honeymoon” she answered, before eyeing him and Merlin weirdly. “So, better to stay here, right, Arthur?”

 

Why he had even missed her was a complete mystery.

 

* * *

 

 

Gwaine wouldn’t say he had been looking forward to meeting Morgana again but… yes, he had been looking forward to just that. Not that he had any _untoward_ ideas, just that she was funny and good company and those were two things he enjoyed exceedingly. So, when he had learnt that she was going to make a three day quickstep at Camelot during the latest fashion shows, he made sure that everyone would decide to go to Kilgharrah’s.

 

Morgana was much like he remembered her, although her hair had been cut short and in different lengths for some reason or another. She was also wearing skirts this time around, which worked extremely well with her long legs. _Not that he was looking_. Much. When he came in, she threw him a magazine cover smile.

 

“Gwaine!” she acknowledge him with a nod, as if he was a subject of her court. “I’ve been hearing a lot about your latest antics.”

 

It was true that in the last few weeks he had done more than his fair share of insanity, but after two months of forced celibacy — the idea of bedding someone while Merlin slept next door was simply too weird, it would require too much restraint for him to find it truly fun — he felt he had the right to go a bit overboard. Gwaine could tell she was looking at him and searching for any cracks, any clues that he wasn’t okay — that Merlin being around was being an issue, or that him moving in with Arthur bothered him, but he _knew_ she wouldn’t find any.

 

Because there _were_ none. It was mostly funny to watch Arthur and Merlin pretend to be civilised and end up snapping at each other in a festival of banter that would be obnoxious if it weren’t so amusing. Spending time with his ex had only made it very clear that, yeah, there was _nothing_ he should have held on to, because they were nothing but good friends like he was with Percy and Lance. Sure, he still felt a bit — empty — whenever he looked around to see nothing but happy couples (and Arthur and Merlin may not be shagging, but they fit the idea to a T, with all their roommates bickering), but right now, he felt nothing if not contentment.

 

He threw her his most winning smile.

 

“A man’s gotta live, Morgana” he said, smacking a kiss at her cheek. She laughed at it.

 

“A bit too much, even” Mordred added, with a raised eyebrow, and, really, couplehood wasn’t doing him any favours.

 

“Let him” Morgana said, with a laugh. “It’s his last few good years — soon, he’ll be too old for this.”

 

“I thought we were all too old for this” Lance said, with a sigh, and Gwaine _had_ to reply.

 

“Yeah, but, Lance, mate, you’ve _always_ been to old for this. You’re dating the same chick since _college_. I don’t care that the wedding it’s not until July, you’ve been _married_ for over a decade.”

 

Gwen laughed at it, shaking her head, and used it as way to start talking to Morgana about the upcoming wedding and Gwaine decided he may as well get himself a drink and observe from afar. Morgana seemed well, skin slightly tanned and eyes shining as they talked — and she seemed truly well. It was something of a disappointment, really, and he decided to talk to Kilgharrah instead of looking at her. It would lead nowhere.

 

It took Morgana half an hour to come towards him.

 

“You still haven’t come back” she said, stopping next to him, leaning her head. “Trying to score?”

 

“Not really” he answered, truthfully. “Just… I don’t feel like being judged by the perfect couplehood of that table. Being the last single of a group is _not_ always fun, I’ll tell you.”

 

Morgana gave him a sort of frown, before answering.

 

“You’re not the last” she said, slowly.

 

“Not yet” he agreed, “but pretty much. Have you _seen_ them together?” there was no need to clarify who. “It’s a matter of time, really. One month living together and they’re already acting like an old married couple. It may take a while — hopefully, not too long, because _boy_ I don’t think I can deal with losing another pool — but it _will_ happen.”

 

She seemed a bit sad upon hearing it, and put her hand over his before speaking.

“And are you okay with it?”

 

Gwaine had been expecting it, but still it made him laugh. He nodded, answering her, and she didn’t seem to doubt it.

 

“It’s… Nice, in a way. To see them… Find each other. Like a full circle or something” he shrugged, looking at her. “Still, being the only one… Sort of sucks. Sometimes it feels as if… I have no one to _talk to.”_

 

Morgana looked at him, her lips pressed tightly and a sympathetic expression in her face.

 

“You can talk to me” she offered, and he nodded.

 

“Yeah — I know that — but you’re not _here,_ I mean — you’re hardly ever around and…” he shrugged.

 

“Talk to me anyway” she urged him, with a squeeze. “Any moment — any time. Just give me a call, or message me and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

 

This surprised him, but he nodded nonetheless. It was not that he would _do_ it, but the intention was what counted, and Gwaine felt lucky to have someone who cared enough to offer. It was nice. Morgana didn’t wait for anything else, before leaving and walking back to the table.

 

It took him three weeks before he _did_ message her, out of sheer boredom, in the middle of the day.

 

 _Doing anything fun?_ He asked. The reply took but a few minutes.

 

_Planning the murder of this photographer. Any ideas?_

 

Somehow, from there, the conversation just flowed. It was _easy_ and most of the time _funny_. Morgana had a sharp wit, and a mean streak a mile wide, and even when it was turned towards him, it was more amusing than hurtful. He didn’t know how long it was before she stopped answering for a long while — possibly sleeping, she was halfway across the globe — but when she was up again, she continued texting as if they had never stopped.

 

Slowly, it became a part of his week — texting with Morgana, pub with the gang, work, sometimes even trying to pull someone. Gwaine didn’t even notice how weird it was until Arthur pointed out.

 

“Who is it that you keep texting all the time?” he asked, one night at the end of May.

 

“Morgana” he answered without thinking, laughing at something she had written.

 

When he looked back up, there was a weird expression on Arthur’s face — a mixture of exasperation and fondness that was _so very Merlin_ that Gwaine was once again forced to notice how they were rubbing off on each other.

 

“You’re grinning like a schoolgirl with a crush” he said, then, and Gwaine denied it vehemently.

 

“I’m not!” but this only made Mordred and Merlin start laughing at him.

 

“Oh, Gwaine, you should _see your face_ ” Merlin announced. “We’ll take pictures next time.”

 

It was insulting to even consider it — whatever they may say and whatever had happened, he was _not_ a schoolgirl with a crush. Still, just to be on the safe side, he decided to _not_ answer anymore on that day. He would need to explain later, and they would laugh a lot about it.

 

Only that… He really didn’t feel like telling Morgana what they had said, because it was ridiculous — _not_ because he had been thinking quite a lot about their Christmas Eve, nor because he had had a few dreams about her — she was, after all, hot and this was to be expected — but just to avoid reminding her of anything relating to that awful New Year. Although things were mostly fine, it was _not_ something anyone was particularly eager to talk about, unless it was about Percy and Mordred.

 

Gwaine was also _not_ anxious at all about her return in June for Gwen’s hen party — except it meant that it would be also _Lance’s_ stag party on the day before, and _this_ was bound to be amusing, in spite of all the critical romantic spirit most of their group was drenched in. It was _only natural_ that he’d be looking forward to it, right?

 

* * *

 

 

Ever since coming to Camelot for Christmas the year before, Morgana had found herself missing it more than usual. It was not only that it _had_ been her home, the first city she had lived in save for Tintagel, but also it was the place where she had bought her first house, where she had turned from a rebellious teenager into a young woman, the city she had called her own whenever she was travelling around the world. More and more she thought about returning for good — about settling down, about doing something _smart_ with her life and start planning ahead, maybe even signing up for a few Uni courses… She _had_ a career and a grand name, but she _knew_ the world she was living in — and it was dirty and gritty, filled with a lot of angst and sadness and, most importantly, utterly disgusted by ageing. At thirty two, she was still young enough, but at her job she was already getting dark looks from girls half her age. To think that, not so long ago, Morgana had been the same.

 

So, yes, she had _other plans_ with her life, and to start working towards them before she started being passed more often for shows and pictures was the smart thing to do — leave them before they left her and all that — and it was only natural that she would think of Camelot when considering it all. There was nothing _surprising_ about it.

But, of course, if she was honest, _the people_ were, too, part of the appeal. The closeness she had felt between them — having Gwen’s support and Mordred’s snark, and Arthur’s company, all of that would be good — refreshingly real after years living basically alone in the world where _nothing_ was what it seemed. So, yes, she had been missing Camelot and was _glad_ for the reason to deny a job and visit again Gwen’s hen party offered her.

 

As the maid of honour, traditionally it would have been _her_ who organised the party, but being away made it complicated, and in the end, Elena and Sefa had done it. Morgana was tired of missing things, too, and this was another thing calling her back. Sure, it was just a party, but what about the future? She had seen on Facebook when Leon had gotten engaged to Mithian, but it had taken a week before anyone mentioned that Elyan was going to move in with Vivian, and Merlin was to become Arthur’s roommate. Those were not… huge things, but what about when the time came for pregnancy tests and baby showers? Lance had finished his residency, and his fellowship was almost done, it wouldn’t take long and…

 

And maybe it was time to come home for good.

 

Lance’s not-traditional-at-all stag party was to be on Friday, while Gwen’s would be on Saturday. Morgana did her best, but ended up getting in Camelot only at night. She used her keys to drop her things at Mordred’s house and left to meet them at the club they had chosen — the very same Isle of Blessed they had been to on Christmas Eve. The chaotic lights gave her oddly real flashbacks, and the whole thing was jarring. She was glad today they were to be in a VIP section, and not the same table they had been before. The amount of people she didn’t know at the party was surprising, but their group of friends was clearly there — or part of it.

 

“Hey!” she said, kissing Gwen’s cheek, and it was clear in her expression she was more than a bit tipsy. She turned and kissed Elena and Sefa as well. “Where is everyone else?”

 

“Downstairs” Gwen yelled over the music, pointing to the dance floor that they could clearly watch from her. She soon found Percy’s tall form leaning at the bar, with Arthur at his side. “I told Lance to go and rub on somebody else for the last time!”

Her friend pointed to her fiance, laughing, and Morgana could see he was standing awkwardly as some girl tried to grind him. He seemed long suffering, and some of his work friends seemed to be near, almost rolling on the floor from watching the whole thing.

 

“He doesn’t seem to be having much fun” she told Gwen, and her friend laughed again, her eyes shining.

 

“I know — bless him.”

 

Morgana saw over her shoulder that Mithian and Leon were up here, wrapped in an embrace, but Elena’s voice called her back.

 

“Ooh, they’re taking out the big guns now, look!”

 

Morgana looked to where she was pointing, but it wasn’t _Lance_ they were talking about — it was Mordred and Merlin, dancing together in a manner that was altogether way too provoking. One glance told her that Percy was watching it all, between annoyed and amused.

 

“They had a spat” Sefa explained, giggling. “Something about fan mail? Mordred just called him jealous, and Percy said he couldn’t care less what he did and well — that’s the result.”

 

It didn’t surprise her much that Merlin and Mordred had become close enough for _this_ , there seemed to be something between them that was quite similar beyond their features — the same sense of humour, the same softness that hid steel. She watched a bit more, as Merlin turned around, grinding Mordred, his hands at the younger man’s tights, and finally she noticed how her brother clearly couldn’t take his eyes off of them. Oh, well, not a big surprise there.

 

“Where’s Gwaine?” she asked, finally, and the three of them shot her knowing glances.

 

“Worried he left already?” teased Elena, and Morgana snorted.

 

“Merely curious, he’s _not_ the kind go miss a party.”

 

None of them seemed to believe her, and Sefa just shrugged.

 

“He was talking to one of Lance’s friends from the hospital downstairs”.

 

Morgana couldn’t see him, but it didn’t matter all that much. The whole thing was sure to be amusing with or without him. She stood up.

 

“I’ll get a drink and talk to the boys” she said, and Gwen honestly _smirked_ at her.

 

“Yeah — right. See ya.”

 

Vodka always had a weird effect on Gwen, so she just got down the stairs and walked straight to Lance, pulling him away from the girl and hugging him close.

 

“Congratulations, you lucky bastard” she told him, and he grinned at her.

 

“No hard feelings?” he asked, and she laughed.

 

“None unless you screw this up” she told him, not for the first time. She let Lance introduce her to a bunch of doctors who worked with him — men and women both, one — Shallot or something — who seemed crushed to be attending _Lance’s_ stag party. She decided to keep an eye on her, and headed towards the bar, to where Percy and Arthur were still watching Mordred and Merlin’s little show.

 

“Now, boys, should I get buckets? You’re drooling!” she said, with a smirk, and Arthur looked away just for enough time to kiss her cheek. Percy grunted a bit, but kissed her too. “Now, come on, Percy!” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “He’s just trying to make you admit you’re jealous.”

 

“Jealous is _not_ exactly what he’s feeling right now” said Gwaine, showing up on his other side and grinning at her before making a face and looking pointedly to Percy’s crotch.

 

She stepped around Percy and hugged him, and absolutely didn’t tremble when his kiss landed on the corner of her mouth.

 

“Drink?” he asked, giving her a glass of something pink and sweet that was stronger than it looked. “Maybe we should give _them_ something to drink, they’ll get dehydrated soon enough.”

 

Morgana laughed at it, and passed the beers Gwaine handed her along. Still they didn’t do anything apart from taking it and sipping it.

 

“How long has this been going on?” she asked, amused.

 

“Dancing? For half an hour, I guess. Full on grinding for about… half of that.”

 

She nodded, impressed.

 

“Percy’s holding his own well” she said and Gwaine leered.

 

“Not for long” he said, with a wink, and pulling her, he came around, stopping behind Mordred. Morgana didn’t need any instructions, just plastering herself to Merlin’s back, and guiding his hands over Mordred’s shoulders and hair.

 

Naturally, Percy came around in less than two minutes, pulling Mordred away from them and kissing him soundly. The three of them just laughed, and Merlin turned to dance with Morgana instead, Gwaine at his back. She lowered her head, speaking right next to his ear.

 

“Arthur’s been staring at you all along” she told him, and the deep blush that crept through his neck made it clear that he knew.

 

“He sided with Percy” he offered, with a shrug, and she laughed at this comment.

“Of course he did — but it’s _more_ than that.”

 

Merlin just stuck his tongue at her, stopping dancing.

 

“I think I need to drink something” he yelled, and she just smirked.

 

Gwaine stayed with her, dancing as Mordred and Percy continued to furiously make out behind them.

 

“I thought you wouldn’t come” he told her, moulding his hips to hers.

 

“Couldn’t miss it for the world!” she answered, and he held her waist, dipping her low and swinging her to the side before pulling back and it made her laugh.

This time, she could remember leaving with him. She could remember how one second they had been dancing, how the sexy movements had led to kissing, grinding becoming groping. She could remember perfectly telling him to take her home _right away_ , and them leaving without saying goodbye. She remembered in detail every second of their skins together, every touch, each orgasm even when they seemed to meld together. _This_ she was not going to forget, even if there had been no showering and having breakfast together.

 

When she got back to Mordred’s in the morning, he and Percy had still been in their room. She showered and made breakfast, and as usual, the smell of coffee had been enough to bring Mordred rushing in.

 

“Morning” she sing-sang, and he smirked at her.

 

“Someone had a good night” he said, and she eyed pointedly the purple mark at his neck.

 

“Yes, you, clearly” she answered, getting a mug.

 

“Are you telling me you _didn’t_ leave with Gwaine after passionate making out and proceeded to have sex until morning?”

 

“I’m not confirming or denying anything” she said, but she was still grinning.

 

“You’re in a good mood in the morning when it’s _not_ a party, it says more than enough.” Morgana raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

 

“Just an FYI, I have _hot_ coffee on my hands — withholding it would be the _kindest_ thing I might do if you continue this.”

 

Mordred raised his hands to his chest in a gesture of peace, and sat on the stool in front of her.

 

“It’s just… It’s nice to see you _this_ happy — I don’t think I have seen you quite like this since… Well, since Morgause.”

 

Morgana almost missed the mug right then, and watched the coffee pouring carefully. She hadn’t been expecting the mention — they generally avoided talking about it at all — but Mordred seemed to not notice it.

 

“And it is good — it’s wonderful, really — and I think it’s perfect — you make such a wonderful couple…”

 

Morgana put the pot down, frowning at Mordred.

 

“We’re not a couple — we’re just… Friends with benefits, perhaps — but not a couple. And it’s _nothing_ like Morgause.”

 

She pushed the cup towards him almost aggressively, and the little brat had that look in his eyes, that wise and almost older than the rest of him look, that was so incredibly annoying.

 

“So you _don’t_ just _get_ each other, and complete each other’s jokes, and talk with just a look?” he asked, and Morgana wanted to throttle him.

 

“Not the same” she repeated, putting down another mug at the cabinet with a clank.

 

“No, it’s _better_ ” Mordred said, with a hint of a smile. “Unlike Morgause, he doesn’t try to boss you around, and he doesn’t see you as less. And, somehow, as weird as it may sound since, you know, it’s Gwaine and all that — I don’t think he’d string you along in a uncomfortable poly relationship only to dump you for the guy.”

 

Morgana gave him the tightest, angriest smile she could, before answering.

 

“Yeah, I agree — and even if he _did_ , it wouldn’t _matter_ because I’m not in love with him.”

 

Mordred curled his hands around his cup, before bringing it to his mouth and sipping it.

 

“Whatever you say” he muttered, and she was _glad_ that this time next morning she would be off to Tintagel to visit her parents. She may miss home but _this_ was definitely not something she wanted to talk about.

 

* * *

 

 

If anybody had told him one year before that he would be attending not only the wedding, but also all the assorted parties, for people he wouldn’t know until the year turned, Merlin would have thought it would be only out of a sense of obligation and avoiding awkwardness from the part of the bride and groom — the whole thing of being friends with one of their friends forever and roommates with the best man. Somehow, it didn’t seem to be the case when it came to Lance and Gwen.

 

It was one of those things — they were all so close, that it was virtually impossible not to be sucked into their group; and that much had been clear even before he moved in with Arthur (not one of his smartest decisions, all things considered). The thing was that… As Arthur had predicted in a sudden moment of clarity — and Merlin was _not_ saying he was right about anything, because he’d never be so foolish as to say so, lest Arthur used it against him — he fit right in. Not all the time, and not with all of them… But Gwen just made him feel so at ease with himself, and she was so caring and yet so objective that he felt… Looked after. She reminded him of his mom, in some ways. Maybe it was the whole kindergarten teacher thing: Merlin was the kid that couldn’t even get a grip on the safety scissors and she just _needed_ to help. Or, you know, an outsider and she just _needed_ to make him part of it, because she was amazing like that.

 

Lance was equally kind, but in a different way. He didn’t make nearly as much effort, but he allowed Merlin space to simply _be_. He was always there, a calming and comforting presence, eyes always watching but never judging, ears always ready and the eyes… He just _knew_ things, and had the patience of a saint when most of them were being silly for one reason and another. He didn’t even seem like a _real_ person, sometimes, just so lawfully good that it was hard to believe he existed, and measuring oneself against him was even harder.

 

Merlin had always been friendly, but somewhat reserved too, and it didn’t help all that much in making friends. Now, somehow, in six short months, he felt like he had more friends than he knew what to do with. It was not just Lance and Gwen, although they had helped a great deal: it was Elena’s cheery straightforward way, Sefa’s quiet softness, Leon’s unwavering support, Mithian’s knowing eyes, Mordred’s snark, Percy’s slow approval. Gwaine, back to being the friend he had had at school — outrageous and carefree.

 

And Arthur, of course. Some days he felt like he knew Arthur better than all the rest of them put together — save Gwaine, for sheer time — and other days, he couldn’t fathom him at all. Arthur would always be ready to dismiss anything he said, and Merlin couldn’t help but challenging every other sentence out of his mouth. Often it was just a thing they did, even if they agreed on principle. They shared some interests, while others they simply couldn’t understand. They were at odds more often than not, and their disagreements ending up in shouting matches was not uncommon; at the same time, they were never truly angry with each other. It was a weird, weird balance that they shared — long quiet talks filled with intimate moments that interrupted the unending teasing and jabbing that they normally traded.

 

Merlin was doing little but to consider the strangeness of Arthur as a whole when Gwaine stopped next to him. He smiled, turning to his old friend as he leaned against the bar, accepting the beer he was offered.

 

“So” Gwaine started, conversationally. “When are you going to grow a pair and make a move?”

 

The comment got Merlin dumbfounded for a second, before he shot back.

 

“When are _you_ going to grow a pair and admit you _like_ her?”

 

No names were needed, both of them knew exactly who they were talking about. A blind man could see the way Gwaine reacted when Morgana texted; could see the way they looked at each other, one could be deaf and hear the matching cadence of their conversation, the perfect timing of their breathing. There was chemistry, of the kind that needed but a sparkle to ignite like wildfire, and each look they shared was sparkle enough. That they had ended up entangled during Lance’s Stag party surprised no one, and the heavy flirting they had engaged the day before seemed almost rebellious in its nature. More than that: there was some sort of empathy, of understanding that did not reflect the amount of time they had _actually_ spent together. All it took was for Gwaine to stop… Denying himself for whatever reason, because he knew for a fact that all the reasons he had once had were not there anymore, and it showed in everything he did, in the way he talked and teased and seemed to be at complete ease about things he had once been hurt about. It hadn’t been one or two conversations, but eventually they had made it — over the bridge of the years they had been apart — and he _knew_ for a fact that everything Gwaine had wanted to have — had given up on finding — he had found in Morgana and there could be _nothing_ but habit stopping him from jumping in.

 

Merlin wasn’t completely oblivious himself — he _knew_ that there was something _else_ there between him and Arthur; that it was not exactly friendship alone. He could admit to flirting… Even without meaning to. And the one quick kiss they had shared at New Year had been more than enough to make him think of Arthur when he was alone in the dark. Now, _doing_ something about it was another matter completely. After everything, it seemed like an unnecessary risk, even if Gwaine _was_ asking, even if there were many reasons and actions that proved he didn’t care — that he was _rooting_ for it — still, his infatuation might prove to be unwise and when you already _lived_ with somebody and _worked_ with them, every normal risk is multiplied by the circumstances and made it simply… Too risky.

 

That was, if Arthur was even interested beyond the obvious attraction that had led them to flirt when they met, which he could never truly say.

 

“Don’t change the topic” Gwaine said, with a grin. “I asked you something first.”

 

“Yes, but you’re not exactly in a position to be judging” he answered, sipping his drink again and looking idly through the bar.

 

“Look, I’ve _never_ denied wanting her, and I’ve _never_ said I didn’t think she was hot. I never pretended I wasn’t flirting and we _have_ shagged a few times” his friend pointed out, before nagging again. “You two, on the other hand…”

 

“Oh, I was not talking about _shagging_ and you know it” Merlin cut in, with a shake of his head. “I’m talking about _liking_.”

 

Gwaine snorted, before giving a little nod.

 

“I like her a lot — she’s _great_ all around and maybe the best friend with benefits I’ve had — but I _never_ denied any of that — while _you_ …”

 

Merlin just sighed, shaking his head.

 

“You’re going to tell me I’ve been _pretending_ things aren’t there” he guessed, before continuing. “When every other word you say about Morgana makes it _very_ clear that there is _so_ much more to it than the usual friends with benefits thing — you don’t need to _say a word_ because when someone mentions her, you whip your head at once. When you talk _to_ her, your eyes are sparkling all the time. When you talk _about_ her, you’re always grinning. Your face betrays the fact that your heart races when she comes close and your hands show how anxious and excited at once you are when _waiting_ for her to show up. All things considered, it seems a bit rich that you’re trying to lecture me on _not_ facing things that are obviously there.”

 

It was always a pleasurable experience to have Gwaine out of words, but there was something on his friend’s face that made him stop — fear, anxiety, happiness — all mingled together in something that seemed to be both pleasure and pain. There was something else, too, something new, that Merlin couldn’t remember having ever seen in all those years: caution.

 

“I’m just…” he started, before taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I’m just… I don’t see why I should… It’s that old saying: if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it.”

 

Merlin just watched as he shrugged, clearly not absolutely thrilled but too scared to do anything. It was a comfortable position, one that it was hard to risk, and in his shoes, Merlin wasn’t sure he would be able to do much either.

 

“You _should_ because you _want more_ ” he told his friend, even though he didn’t know if he’d follow his own advice. “That’s exactly the point, isn’t it? You’re _not_ broken, Gwaine, at least not anymore — and that is how _she_ affected you, you know? All the things you’ve said you wanted… And now instead of going for them, you’re just stalling. Denying. Pretending it’s enough.”

 

“What would you have me do? Ask her out on a date?” Gwaine snorted at this, as if it was a ridiculous idea.

 

“It would be a good start” Merlin said, with a grin. “Generally, that’s how things go.”

 

“It’s lame” he justified, and he knew he just had to up his game.

 

“I’ll do it if you do it” he challenged Gwaine with a smirk.

 

“Will you? Really?” the man doubted, and Merlin nodded.

 

“Cross my fingers and everything. Even if it’s ridiculous that you’re equating the two things that aren’t…”

 

“You’re acting all high and mighty, but _everyone_ and their mother know you and Arthur are pining for each other — just put him out of his misery — though, considering we’re talking about dating you, it might be adding to it.”

 

Merlin laughed, and slapped Gwaine’s arm, which made his friend’s smile even bigger.

 

“Don’t start — it’s _not_ that bad — I bet… I bet most people don’t even…”

 

He never got a chance to finish his sentence, because Gwaine turned around, beckoning the old bartender in.

 

“Kilgharrah” he said, with an exaggerated gesture. “You’re a wise old fellow” Kilgharrah raised his eyebrows, seeming utterly unimpressed. “So solve a dispute between us, please — should or shouldn’t Merlin ask Arthur out already?”

 

Merlin laughed, uncomfortable, and shook his head, but the bartender’s eyes were serious and filled with some unexplained knowledge as he spoke.

 

“That yours and Arthur’s path lie together is but the truth” he pronounced then, his intense stare on Merlin, and it was so surreal, that he let out a sharp laugh.

 

“Yeah — sure — Gwaine, this is stupid — I don’t think he’s even interested _like that_ — half of the time he basically hates me…”

 

“One half cannot truly hate what makes it whole” added Kilgharrah, being even more obnoxiously cryptic than usual. “You’ll see.”

 

Merlin just shook his head, ignoring him. The old man was weird.

 

“So, you’re saying I should just go out there and ask him if he wants to have dinner? I mean, I’m pretty sure under the circumstances this is _not_ going to sound like a date.”

 

Gwaine just sighed, and pulled up his phone, speaking as he texted.

 

“Do you have a date for the wedding?” he enunciated before hitting send, and it was just a few seconds the mobile beeped with the answer. “Would you like to go with me?” again, just a few seconds before the phone rang again, and Gwaine smiled at it, satisfied, before pocketing it. “Your move now.”

 

“I don’t believe you” Merlin elbowed him. “Show me — proof, I need proof?”

 

Gwaine laughed as he picked up the phone from his pocket and showed him the conversation — and nothing, nothing at all seemed to be foul play. He just stared at Gwaine, eyes wide, panicking. Why had he challenged Gwaine to start with? And Arthur was coming their way, and Gwaine gave him a small shove but enough to send him stumbling into Arthur’s path. Arthur paused him with his hand, but raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed at all with Merlin’s lack of coordination.

 

“A beer, please” he told Kilgharrah, but he didn’t move away from Merlin.

 

“Ahn.. Arthur” he started, but words were gone, and he was left opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

 

“What is it?” his roommate asked, seeming a bit bored already. This was not good. Gwaine was mouthing words behind Arthur’s shoulder, and Merlin tried to steel himself for the inevitable rejection.

 

“Are you bringing a date to the wedding?” he asked, trying to sound casual, and Arthur frowned at him.

 

“You know I’m not” he said, taking his beer and sipping it.

 

“I was thinking… It would be more practical if… We went together” he said, proud of the fact he had managed the words, even if he knew he was about to get crushed.

“Didn’t we already have this conversation and decided it weeks ago?” Arthur asked, with a small head shake, as if trying to keep things clear. “You, Sefa and Elena are riding with me; Elyan and Vivian are going with Leon and Mithian — poor them — and Gwaine, Mordred and Percy will pick up Morgana from the station on their way. Wasn’t that it?”

 

“Yes” Merlin agreed, nodding enthusiastically, and somewhat relieved — Gwaine couldn’t say he _hadn_ ’t tried OR warned that it would never be seen as what it was. “Yes, that is a good plan, I had forgotten, this is great…” he continued to babble, anxiety making his hands go damp.

 

“I believe, Young Pendragon, that Merlin meant it together as in a date” pipped in the bartender, and Merlin wished the floor would just open up and eat him. “Romantically speaking, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Oh” Arthur’s face was completely blank of expression as he looked from Kilgharrah to Merlin, who still didn’t say anything, just wanting to die right away. He could feel his face burning, and he saw as Arthur started to blush as well. “Oh.”

 

Merlin was ready for being refused — damn, he didn’t even consider the other possibility as something that was actually possible — but the waiting just made everything worse.

 

“All right” Arthur said, finally, with a short jerk of his head. “I suppose…” He looked around and caught Gwaine’s eye on his other side, and their friend gave him an enthusiastic nod and an open smile before he looked back at Merlin. “Okay. It’s settled then.”

 

It just made Merlin blush even more, and Arthur’s neck was tinted red as he turned around and headed towards the table, and it was far from the most enthusiastic reply he had ever received, but it had been so completely unexpected that his knees were wobbly and his heart was racing. Gwaine patted his shoulder, with a huge smile of his own.

 

“See — _easy_. He’s _absolutely_ into you.”

 

“It is destiny” declared Kilgharrah, and Merlin’s head entered a minor state of panic as he turned towards Gwaine, eyes wide.

 

“Gwaine — _Gwaine”_ he called, his arms flailing of their own will. “ _What did I do?_ ”

 

His friend and the bartender’s laughter just filled the air.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur prided himself to be a person that didn’t get nervous under pressure. He handled it well, it was one of the few perks of growing up under Uther’s care. So, of course, he was not nervous at all about the wedding, or his role as the best man. He knew exactly what he had to do, which was make sure _Lance_ didn’t freak out. He could not do that if he was nervous, so, he wouldn’t be nervous. It was _not_ the moment he could afford the luxury of a crisis — it was a moment he was meant to be solid as a rock and stay by his friend’s side.

 

Therefore, he needed to ignore that he was, technically, on a date. With Merlin.

 

That would have to wait until Lance and Gwen were properly, legally married. For now, there was no date, there was no tension, there was only whatever Lance needed.

 

Which didn’t seem to be much. Not that it was surprising in itself, because Arthur doubted that many people were ever as sure about wanting to get married as Lance was. He had been prepared and preparing for this moment for longer than Arthur could remember. In fact, Arthur suspected that Lance had started devising his wedding to Gwen before he even asked her out. He was _that_ sure.

 

Still, not even the surest man in the world could come completely unshaken from the whole wedding thing because it was just one thing after another. People coming and going, crises everywhere, opinions being asked every five minutes and Arthur couldn’t help but wonder how much _worse_ Gwen was getting, because she was the bride, after all, it was meant to be her big day. The greatest day. The happiest day of her life.

 

So when Lance _did_ freak out, Arthur was ready. He was more than ready. He had a glass of scotch, and all things that could potentially be harmful out of the way, and the whole male side of the group scouring the area for someone who could sew his trousers back from where they had opened around his bum. Lance sat on his boxer briefs and buttoned down shirt on the bed, accepting the glass and looking at it.

 

“It’s ruined” he declared, with a somewhat tragic voice that didn’t match him in any way. “It’s gone — there’s nothing we can do to save it. I’ll have to just… Use something else. Someone must have an extra pair of trousers, I’m sure. Though — I used up all my luck in finding Gwen, so it’s likely that only Percy will have brought more and I’ll marry looking like an elderly man in nappies.”

 

He took a gulp of his drink, and Arthur fought against the urge to laugh.

 

“Come on, Lance, we still have one hour” he tried to cheer his friend up. “I’m sure the guys will find someone to fix it.”

 

Lance just shook his head.

 

“A place filled with doctors — surgeons!” he added, gloomily. “And no one — _no one_ — thought to bring a needle and some thread” he just shook his head. “Sewing is _not_ the problem — I’m fully trained, I could make stitches so tiny, so perfect, that would make you _cry_ at their beauty. But no — destiny has said otherwise.”

 

Part of Arthur just wanted to note this all down, it seemed like a perfect conversation for a future scene, but there was nothing around but his phone and he feared that if he got his phone, Lance would get even more nervous.

 

“Look, if no one can be found, you can just use mine” he said, with a sigh. “Our suits are the exact same shade, Gwen made sure of it.”

 

Lance just looked at him, having now downed the whole glass and poured another one.

 

“This will never work” he announced, in a dark tone. “I’m shorter and I don’t have quite your bum to fill it up, so it’d be falling down all the time — oh god, that’s the price for getting all this, isn’t it? I’ll have to either marry with my briefs on show for both our families or to look like an elderly man.”

 

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at it, and Lance seemed almost ready to cry. He raised his hand to run through his hair, and Arthur admonished him.

 

“Don’t ruin the hair too!” It was incredible, since Lance barely had any, but the hairdresser had been extremely clear on his one. It had taken almost an hour to fix it, for whatever reason. Arthur would never let him forget it, it was his payback for all the times Lance had teased him for spending too long a time fixing his hair.

 

It was right at this moment that Mordred burst in, bringing an old lady by the hand.

“FOUND HER!” he announced, and Lance yelped, trying to cover himself.

 

The lady was probably way over seventy, but still she gave Lance a full once-over before asking, business like.

 

“Alright, alright, where are these trousers anyway?”

 

“You’re a star” Arthur told Mordred, with a small pat on his back, and Mordred grinned.

 

“It was nothing” he said, with a wave of his hand. “How is he holding up?”

 

“Kind of gloomy” explained Arthur. “Where is the rest of them?”

 

“Gwaine was sent by Morgana on some mission or another” and Arthur sniggered, his friend was so whipped, then again, he knew his sister well enough. “Percy is downstairs trying to help Gwen’s mother with something about the tent? I don’t know, I just didn’t pay enough attention. Leon is talking to your father, who, for some reason, decided to come around earlier.”

 

Arthur was not at all surprised, his father did things his own way, and it meant coming and going as he saw fit. He only hoped he wouldn’t decide to leave in the middle of the ceremony, or that if this was the case, his mother would be able to keep him from doing something that would utterly mortify them all.

 

“Your mother is fine, though, she has already been roped into doing something by Gwen” Mordred added, before looking at Lance and the seamstress and getting distracted.

 

“What about Merlin?” he asked, trying to sound like it was a minor thing, as if he had just remembered, but the look his friend gave him was knowing.

 

“He is with Elena and Sefa, getting the flowers for us.”

 

Arthur nodded, and forced his mind to stay in the moment. There was no point in wondering how Merlin would look in a suit, or if their boutonnieres would match, because _Lance_ was his priority now.

 

At least the woman was good, and easily fixed the problem, which made Lance grovel with thankfulness, and Arthur had to actually pull him up from his knees and remind him that he had to _dress_ them before anything else. Lance rushed to put on the trousers, socks and shoes, before starting fix his bowtie. It was almost time.

 

“Rings?” Lance asked, as soon as he had finished with his tie.

 

“In my pocket” Arthur said, tapping it, and it was time to go.

 

Through the years, Arthur had been to many weddings — and seen even more places ready for one, although some had been pure scenario — but Gwen and Lance’s wedding chapel seemed… Perfect for them. There was something classical, almost romantic in the place, in the salmon flowers decorating the aisle, the people who were beginning to fill the room. Together, the two of them walked down it, to stand in their places in the altar and wait for the moment when Gwen would make her grand entrance and come towards the man she had loved most of her life.

 

Arthur could see his parents, sitting together, and Lance’s parents, looking happy and proud as they should. Mordred and Percy were hand in hand, almost in the middle of the chapel, and Leon and Mithian were next to them. Other faces filled the places, and he knew that as bridesmaids Sefa and Elena wouldn’t be around until the moment right before Gwen arrived, but they were not the person he was looking for. Lance noticed him fidgeting and smiled.

 

“He will be here any moment” he whispered, and Arthur felt awkward about it.

 

“I’m sorry — today is about you” he tried, and Lance laughed a bit.

 

“It’s your first date” he reminded him, with a grin. “I can still remember how nervous I was on my first date with Gwen…”

 

“… I can remember too” Arthur teased, “Indeed, I think many people can after I immortalised it on art form.”

 

Lance grinned, and nodded, before continuing.

 

“I’m just saying it’s normal to be nervous.”

 

“I’m not nervous” disagreed Arthur, keeping his face smooth. “And — there is no date until the reception.”

 

“There he is” Lance whispered, and Arthur’s head whipped as fast as he could.

Arthur had never seen Merlin in anything other than jeans and a shirt — or shorts and a shirt, his skinny legs showing. Sure, it seemed like something unreal for two people who had lived together for six months — god knew how much of Lance Arthur had seen in that amount of time — but Merlin was even more fussy with being dressed before leaving the room than Gwen had been. His clothes made him look geeky, sometimes a bit hipster even (although they were too old to properly be either), but in a suit, Merlin was something completely different.

 

Arthur had thought Merlin could have shaved the stubble he had been sporting when they came the night before, and it was clear that it had been trimmed, but not removed. Somehow, it made him look even better than normal — older, sexier, the dark shadow covering his jawline and making his cheekbones even sharper, his lips even redder. His hair was artfully tousled, made to look as if he had just rolled out of bed after a vigorous bout of sex, and it made Arthur’s mouth go dry and his trousers go tight. The suit marked just how he wasn’t as skinny as he looked, shoulders wide although not as much as the rest of them, and the lines of clothing made his legs go on forever and ever. Arthur knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it — couldn’t stop wondering if he would be lucky enough to strip each and every one of those pieces of clothing off of him.

 

Merlin signalled them, with a smile, and walked quickly through the side aisle before squeezing himself next to the rest of them. Arthur was still staring, and might even have missed everything else if the music hadn’t just then begun to play.

 

Elena and Sefa came side by side, small bouquets in their hands and matching dresses. They looked pretty in pink, and Morgana, right behind them, looked as stunning as ever in royal blue, but those were just the first signs, the entrance to the main event.

 

Gwen was beautiful. Her dress was every girl’s dream, the white contrasting with her dark skin, and the look in Lance’s eyes was something to behold. Arthur patted him, happy for them.

 

“You lucky sod” he whispered, and Lance seemed to barely hear it, eyes glued to his bride.

 

There was nothing but them in the world, as far as the two of them were concerned, and the love in their eyes could have lit whole cities at once. Arthur couldn’t look away, shocked and fascinated — believing in something he always doubted as they made their vows.

 

“Guinevere” Lance started, and his voice was soft, a caress, almost a dream as he spoke, his eyes staring at his bride’s and shining with emotion. “The moment I first saw you, I _knew_ you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with — there were never any doubts about it. You were _it_ for me, from day one, and I would never have thought that I’d be so lucky as to _get_ you, to share all those years with you. But I was, and you have taught me so much, and made me into a better man — the man I had always wanted to be, strove to be, but that I would never have managed to become without your gentle support by my side. Because of _you_ , I am the man I am, the doctor I am, the friend I am, the _person_ I am, because you touched me and changed me as a whole simply by the virtue of being there and making me want to be better — to be worthy of you. I believed in myself because _you_ believed in me, and your faith was what made me strong, made me whole, and I couldn’t answer with any less than with the promise I’ll try to be half as wonderful to you as you are to me. And now I’ll say my vows to you — not these words, but the traditional ones, because I am a traditional man, and because I need to have an absolutely perfect wedding, to match the perfect woman I’m marrying — and I’ll do it the only way I know how — with all of me.”

 

Gwen was crying now, happy tears rolling down her face, and Arthur suspected that there was something similar with the sparkle in Morgana’s eyes. He heard a loud snigger, and turned to see Gwaine as the obvious source of it — rolling his eyes and making gag gestures, which made his sister to giggle, but there was something in his eyes that said he didn't really mean it. Next to him, Percy was sniffling, Mordred’s arm around him protectively. He couldn’t avoid looking down to the rest of the line — Leon and Mithian, looking at each other, sweeter than he had ever seen then, and a warm, soft smile on Merlin’s face as he watched them. Their eyes met for one second, and Arthur wondered, for a moment, if Lance and Gwen made him as ready to believe in more as they were doing with Arthur at that moment. It was but a flash, since Lance needed but a single breath to continue.

 

“I, Lancelot, take you, Guinevere, to be my wife; to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part — and after, because I could never let you go, I could never love another, and not even death can divide what God has united — and according to His holy law, this is my solemn vow: I am yours, completely and fully, forever and beyond.”

 

Gwen’s smile was a work of art in itself, even as her eyes strayed from Lance to Arthur, a hint of amusement in her face.

 

“Did you have anything to do with writing this?” she asked, playfully, and Arthur smiled, shaking his head.

 

“Nope. All him. Perfect, he is.”

 

She nodded at this, taking a deep breath before she started her own vows.

 

“I thought long and hard about what I should or could say today, because — I wanted it to be _real_ and from my heart. You say I have made you a better man, and maybe I did, but the truth is that the only reason I _could_ love you this way, support you that way, is that you have always done it for me, too. You taught me to believe — in myself, in love, in _us_. With you, I discovered things I didn’t even dream of, I discovered myself, because with you I _never_ needed to hide or to be anything other than myself, exactly as I am, because that was how you loved me — not the person I could be, or wanted to be, but the person I _was._ You saw the best in me, and the worst, and somehow you managed to love all of it the same way — and I could do no less. With you, I could always be open — my fears and my feelings, my secrets and my dreams, because you never judged them — all you gave me was love and acceptance, and the least I could do was to answer in kind. Twelve years we’ve waited for this moment, but now, there’s nothing to wait anymore. We have grown together, and I can only hope we will continue to grow so, for the next twelve years, and the twelve after that, and the ones after that, forever and ever, even after there is no life to be had.”

 

She stopped, and smiled at him from under her eyelashes, before continuing.

 

“So, today, I, Guinevere, take you, Lancelot, to be my husband; to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part and after, and according to His holy law, this is my solemn vow: I love you, and I’ll do so for the rest of my days.”

 

Morgana was clearly weeping now, not even trying to hide her tears, and Elena was making a bit of a scene with her loud sniffling. Arthur could see how Gwen’s and Lance’s parents looked happy, all four of them crying, and he felt his own throat constricting as the minister continued the ceremony, and soon they were being announced as husband and wife.

 

“You may kiss the bride” the minister said, and Lance put his hand carefully over Gwen’s cheek before leaning in, their eyes never leaving each other’s, and although everyone in the church was staring, Arthur had to look away. It was far too open, far too intimate, and he was _not_ going to let himself be thrown off by it.

 

Instead, he looked at the guests, at their happy faces, at his sister’s slightly flushed cheeks, his mother’s longing eyes — and one didn’t need to be a seer to know what she was thinking — to his friends as they clapped and cheered the happy couple, carefully avoiding Merlin’s face. Lance and Gwen stopped, after what seemed a lifetime, and they prepared themselves to leave.

 

As he walked out, arm in arm with his sister, Arthur found himself drenched in the left overs of the rice shower people had thrown on Gwen. She was laughing and half running down the stairs, hand in hand with her _husband_ , and as they entered the limo that would take them to the reception, they kissed in such a complete happiness, that Arthur felt himself wishing he could have something like that for the first time in, well, forever.

 

“They are perfect for each other” Morgana said, leaning her head towards him. “It’s disgusting, really.”

 

“Yeah, it even made you cry” Arthur teased, this was better, safer.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Morgana answered, her face perfectly smooth. “I do _not_ cry at weddings.”

 

“Of course not” he agreed, before stopping. “Water fell from the eyes of the angels in the façade and dropped on your cheeks by pure chance.”

 

“Glad we cleared that out” she said, with a grin, as he looked around. “Looking for someone, baby brother?”

 

“For everyone, really” he replied, his face smooth. “I have to pass you over to Percy and Mordred and get the people who are going with me.”

 

“Right” she said, her voice filled with mirth. “Not for some certain skinny dark haired big eared guy who happens to be your date for the day.”

 

Arthur sighed — it had taken her long enough.

 

“Him too, since someone has to make sure he _arrives_ at the reception.”

 

“Wouldn’t want him to miss out on the big date” she continued teasingly.

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow at her, not impressed in the slightest with her attitude.

 

“You’re one to talk — last _I’ve_ heard, _Gwaine_ was your date.”

 

Morgana shrugged, as if it weren’t a big deal.

 

“Well, let’s be honest — it’s simply easy. What’s the harm?”

 

“Plenty of harm” Arthur told her, laughing. “You two together are a safety hazard — and a _date_ …”

 

“He asked, I said yes. Some fun, good sex…” and Arthur’s laughter interrupted her.

 

“Come on, Morgana, you two didn’t need to be on a _date_ for _that_ ” he pointed out, sagely. “There’s something more…”

 

“We don’t, but it was the polite thing to do — say yes when you’re already shagging the person…”

 

“I thought it had happened only once after Christmas?” he asked, though he _really_ didn’t want to know.

 

She waved his question away with her hand.

 

“Depends if you’re counting different rounds or days…”

 

“Oh god…” he said, already regretting the question.

 

“I mean, there was plenty of _sexting_ …”

 

“Morgana!” he said, appealed. “Are you _seriously_ telling me…”

 

“What?” she was defensive. “It’s not as if Gwaine was going to spread it around…”

Arthur was about to say something about it, but when he considered it closely, he knew his friend wouldn’t do such a thing, especially not in this case, and how much it said about the two of them that they were able to trust each other like this with having known each other for just a few months? Still, he needed to hold the bridge of his nose in disapproval, because regardless of Gwaine, sexting was always a danger for women.

 

“That’s not the point” he explained. “What if he loses his phone — or you — Morgana, you’re somewhat famous…”

 

“Then people will see a bit more of me than usual” she seemed supremely unconcerned with the possibility and Arthur didn’t know if it was exasperating or typical. “Now, you and Merlin…” she smirked trying to take the conversation back to him, and Arthur could only laugh. “It remains to be seen if _you_ are really going to go on with it or… Chicken out and pretend this was merely convenient.”

 

“Like you’re doing?” he asked, and she just slapped him, at the same time Sefa and Elena joined them, and _at last_ she dropped the whole conversation, because Arthur really, really, really didn’t want to _think_ about it.

 

* * *

 

 

Gwaine had been on plenty of dates before — more than he could count, although he didn’t always bother with it. And, really, it wasn’t much of a date to go somewhere they would have been anyway and focusing on other people and in group, but, somehow, it felt… _different_.

 

Not because it was Morgana, but… Yes, because it was Morgana.

 

He couldn’t really explain what had led him to ask her — save for Merlin’s ridiculous words, because it really wasn’t the same, and things between them were _fine_ as they were, and even if he _missed_ her in a way that he wouldn’t have expected, it was not the same thing as _wanting_ it to be more. Because he _knew_ Morgana, and she was just like him, and any particular move would have her running away a thousand miles per hour even on her ridiculous heels. And even if, knowing that, he _had_ thought that it was a thing they needed to do, move further, certainly a wedding reception with all their friends wouldn’t be exactly the way to do it.

 

All those things said, he was still a bit unsure of what exactly he was doing, as he stopped in front of her.

 

On the high heels she was wearing to the wedding, she was a bit taller than him, but Gwaine didn’t mind it at all. She looked beautiful, even more than usual, much better than on magazine covers and outdoors, with her dark hair coiled up around her head, her somewhat provocative blue dress and her make up a bit smudged by tears she would probably deny forever. She looked _real_ and it made him relax a bit as he took the arm she offered and followed Percy and Mordred to their car.

 

“It was a beautiful ceremony” Percy declared, from the passenger seat. Mordred just turned on the car.

 

“It was corny” Morgana argued, Gwaine snorted.

 

“What else were you expecting?” he asked, and she conceded his point with a nod of her head. “I hope the reception has food, though, I’m starving.”

 

“You do realise this is a date, yeah?” Mordred asked, looking at him through the rear mirror. “Theoretically, you shouldn’t act like a pig.”

 

“That would be false advertisement” he countered, and Morgana laughed at him with a tiny slap on his leg.

 

“It would, but you can _try_ ” she told him, but her grin was wide. “At least around my father, he is already mortally offended that I’m going with _you_ , so try not to make it worse, nobody needs Uther in a mood.”

 

There was no disagreeing to it, and he just smiled, nodding. Not because he wanted to impress the man — after all those years, they had met enough times to know that Uther disapproved of him in every and all possible ways, so there was really no need to make it worse. They continued their way to the reception talking about the ceremony and their friends, nothing in particular, until they reached the place.

Gwaine had been there before, and it was almost magical the way the place had been transformed. Soft jazzy music filled the air, and for the first time that day, he felt at ease to simply take Morgana’s hand and lead her in like some old fashioned gentleman. He could do this — he could simply come and laugh and dance and be the sort of man Lance was so effortlessly, and it would be alright, because she wouldn’t expect him to really _be_ him. The two of them smiled at each other as they entered the room, decorated with so much light — and yet so soft — that it looked like a place out of time, disconnected to reality, dream-like, where everything was possible. The four of them reached their places, and some of their friends were already there, as they waited for the Bride and Groom to make their grand entrance.

It didn’t take that long, and they still seemed to be shining with happiness. Gwaine was glad for them — proud to have seen at least part of it. Arthur and Merlin arrived right after the two, looking supremely awkward around each other, and he couldn’t contain a laugh because it was to be expected, really. He nudged Morgana, remembering something from long ago, before asking.

 

“Has Arthur told your father about him ‘bedding men’ as he said?”

 

She looked at the two men and then at her father’s pressed lips with a smile.

 

“I don’t think he ever did” she whispered at him. “He knows, of course — tabloids and Mordred, and he’s _not_ that blind — but I don’t think Arthur has ever had the talk with him.”

 

She was smirking, clearly having fun with the situation. It was bound to be interesting, one way or another and would take the focus of Uther’s displeasure from him, at least a bit.

 

Conversation flowed easily as they sat down and ate, all of them exchanging various comments about the guests in general and the happy couple who was making the rounds and talking to people. When they had their first dance, they all clapped, cheered and cat called to their hearts content, before it was time for the traditional father-daughter dance. Tom was crying as he led Gwen, and Lance looked at them with undisguised adoration in his eyes. In spite of his growing feelings, he hoped he never looked _that_ way at anyone.

 

As the band invited the rest of the guests to dance as well, Gwaine offered his hand to Morgana without delay.

 

“My Lady” he said, with a frolic and she smiled at him, shaking her head slightly.

 

“Don’t try to be charming” she told him, standing up, and really, there was no other answer for her.

 

“I’m _always_ charming. Sometimes, I’m a gentleman too.”

 

He put his arm around her waist, bringing her close and resting his face against her ear. Her hair smelled fresh underneath the products.

 

“Right — because I remember you saying that you _tried_ to be one, and ended up with your head in between people’s legs.”

 

He grinned, remembering the words, and he ran his lower lip over her ear before speaking.

 

“You can _count_ on it” he whispered, and felt her shoulder rise a bit in a shiver.

 

“I will” she answered, with a smirk, and the two of them danced in silence for some time, just feeling their bodies close together. It was so _easy_ , and so _right_ and it scared Gwaine more than anything because he didn’t even know what to do about it.

He would have to figure it out soon, though, if he didn’t want to ruin everything.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a long while before Morgana finally met Gwen at the party — the guests were demanding a good part of her time, and before they knew it, Gwen was ready to throw the bouquet. Morgana stood behind the other women, not because she wanted it, but ready to keep things under control. He didn’t put it past Vivian to get into a physical fight for it. Part of her — the mean part — wanted nothing more than to let it happen and see the snotty girl lose all her pose, but another part — the one that was very aware of her duty as the Maid of Honor — was ready to stop it by any means necessary.

 

Gwen was flushed as she stepped on the stage and looked at all of them, raising her bouquet high for them all to see before turning her back and counting.

 

Morgana closed her arms, readying herself for the usual mayhem, while the bride counted.

 

“One… Two… Three!”

 

Morgana was watching the women closely, not the flying flowers, and ended up being slapped in the head by them before they fell on her arms. As one, all the single women on the party turned towards her, as she stood, frozen, not knowing what to do. She wanted to throw the thing away, as quickly as possible, and as she raised her face to look at Gwen, her friend winked at her.

 

Oh god. She was going to _kill_ Gwen.

 

Nobody moved, nobody thought of challenging her for it, and Morgana just sighed and put her hand around it. She looked at the rest of the women and shrugged.

 

“Sorry” she started, but upon seeing Vivian’s disappointed face, she grinned widely. “It seems I’ll have to keep this.”

 

She walked away, quickly, and put the flowers on the table they were sitting. Elyan mouthed “Thank You” at her, and she smirked at him.

 

Gwaine merely raised an eyebrow at it and at her, and she sat by his side.

 

“The things we do for friends!” she said, loudly, with a shake of her head.

 

“You’re so doomed” Arthur told Gwaine, and Morgana would have slapped him if she could.

 

“Could be worse” he said, surprising her, and he shrugged. “What?” he asked her and she shook her head.

 

“A gentleman, I can see” she teased, before standing up and walking in Gwen’s direction.

 

She didn’t really know what to make of Gwaine’s mild response to it, because it wasn’t what she had expected — terror, desperation and a vehement denial of any chance of it ever happening, yes. But this absolute aloof reaction was… A tiny bit crushing, if she was going to be honest with herself.

 

Because, truth was, she had _missed_ him. Sure, she had missed him before, on the long months she had spent away, in Ibiza and Japan, but this was something else altogether — she had missed all of them. When in Tintagel, being bothered endlessly by her father and fussed at by her mother, it hadn’t been Arthur or Gwen she had wanted to commiserate with, not Mordred or Elena she had wanted to share things with — it had been _Gwaine_. Mordred’s words kept on rolling in her head, putting her in a terrible mood, but they had also forced her to see the obvious.

 

It was nothing if not casual, but a part of her wanted more — she wanted to just let go, to stay around, to see where it would lead them. She wanted to not have to think as they exchanged messages, she wanted to simply let herself do things without caring, without worrying. She wanted not to fear that her heart was pounding every time the phone chimed with a text.

 

If he had been horrified, it would have been okay. She could deal with it — with the implicit rejection and with the knowledge that it would lead nowhere. It wouldn’t even matter, because it wouldn’t prove even _that_ , it would just be one of those _Gwaine_ things. Now, the whole unruffled thing he had done as Arthur teased him, _that_ had made her not know where she was going, what she was doing.

 

It was Gwen’s day, not the day to bother her with her silly, pathetic, sudden _feelings_ , but her feet had led Morgana there either way. She stopped next to Gwen, and her friend smiled at her.

 

“Did you aim?” she asked, without further explanation.

 

“I _tried_ ” Gwen answered, with a laugh and clearly not feeling the smallest bit of guilt.

 

“Why, oh Gwen, why?” she asked, shaking her head at her friend’s antics. “You’re just… you should _stop_ with this — this — _matchmaking_ thing. Don’t complicate things. We’re doing _fine_ , don’t try to make it a romance — it’s not — even if… I don’t even _know_ what I think about this and he’s _certainly_ not interested in more.”

 

Gwen absolutely could see through her, and stood up, wrapping her arms around Morgana without warning, and there was little she could do but hug her back.

 

“Oh, honey” she whispered, against her head. “You are not nearly as good a liar as you think you are.”

 

Her tone of voice was complacent, as if Morgana was one of her toddlers, doing something adorable. Morgana pulled back a bit, looking at Gwen, with an offended scowl.

 

“I’m _not_ lying” she insisted, and Gwen just shook her head, in a clear ‘whatever you say’ sign. “I’ m _not_.”

 

“Just promise me one thing, will you?” Gwen asked, smiling at her.

 

“What?” Morgana asked, ready for requests to talk about feelings, or try to figure things out, but Gwen had other either ideas.

 

“Remember you are a Pendragon” she said, simply, stepping back and squeezing her hand. “And Pendragons play to win.”

 

Years ago, decades almost, she had told Gwen exactly that. It had been a point of pride. The thrill of a challenge — of the conquest. Now… Now it seemed like trying to win when she had already lost by default.

 

“I don’t think…” she started, but Gwen was having none of that.

 

“I don’t care” she cut in. “Find a way. Devise a battle plan. Play to win — promise me.”

 

Morgana could only nod, and Gwen turned around to speak with someone who she hadn’t seen before, leaving Morgana to try and figure out a way to do just that.

 

* * *

 

Merlin was not really surprised that their date wasn’t being much of a date, because, honestly, _who_ thinks it’s a good idea to have a first date at a wedding where one of the people is the best man and all your friends are around?

 

Well, apart from Gwaine and Morgana, but it didn’t even _count_ because they had been doing that dance for so long, and done so much more than dating, that this was nothing if not _pro-form_.

 

So he didn’t expect much of anything, save the cursory couples’ dance they had shared, to make it look like an actual date. With some luck, they’d be able to put the whole thing behind them without much… Anything. Really. Clearly whatever romantic thoughts he might have cherished in spite of his reasonable side saying it was a bad idea were not to be completed.

 

Gwen had already thrown her bouquet, and they had been teasing Gwaine for a while now when he simply floored them.

 

“Look, whatever you think about me, the thing is — _anyone_ would be lucky to marry her — if they managed to make her stay, then they’d be worth it — worthy of her. Not an easy thing to do. I may not be _that_ man, but… It’s far from dooming, having her, every day.”

 

He was blushing hard now, and kept his eyes carefully away from either of them, observing as Morgana and Gwen embraced. Arthur turned, looking at Merlin, a little puzzled, but all Merlin felt was elated. This was it. It was _going to_ happen.

 

“If she wants you…” Arthur started, unsure, and Gwaine snorted.

 

“Not that lucky mate — you, on the other hand…” he turned now, looking at both. “Weren’t you two supposed to be on a date?”

 

Merlin felt his cheeks burning, but Arthur remained absolutely composed.

 

“Yes — Merlin, dance with me, will you?”

 

He couldn’t do anything but to stand up next to Arthur and follow him to the dance floor. They weren’t even touching, and the whole thing had been awkward enough the first time around, with his terrible coordination and Arthur’s scowls.

 

“Try not to destroy my feet” he instructed, before putting his hands on Merlin’s waist.

 

“Prat” he said under his breath, resting his arms on Arthur’s shoulders. There was a good chunk of space between them, and they barely managed 3 steps before Merlin stepped on his foot.

 

Arthur sighed, long suffering.

 

“Now, Merlin, what did I just say?”

 

“I’m sorry!” he shook his head, annoyed. “Not all of us are posh prats who grew up having _dancing_ lessons.”

 

“I _didn’t_ have dance lessons” Arthur said, brimming. “I just eyes enough to see what is meant to be done in such songs!”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes!” Merlin complained, with a huff. “You’re just too… too… _stiff_.”

 

Arthur snorted at this.

 

“This is not twerking, Merlin, it is _proper_ dancing” he announced, in his posh tone, that Merlin absolutely hated and that did _not_ go straight to his crotch. “Something you might have noticed, if you took a look around. Now, I don’t know what sort of standards your previous dance partners had…”

 

“The standards of not _dancing_ unless they _wanted_ to” Merlin answered, bothered by the whole thing.

 

“But clearly they must have been dreadful” Arthur finalised, trying to guide him while Merlin tried to allow it but utterly failed. “Just let me…”

 

Arthur manhandled him, pulling him closer, and their bodies were now flushed against each other. With his right leg tucked neatly in the midst of Arthur’s and the left one on the outside, there was little he could do but follow his movements. It _did_ stop him from stepping onto Arthur’s feet, but it was still kind of awkward.

 

“I just don’t have a good sense of rhythm” he declared finally, defeated.

 

“I didn’t get that impression” Arthur said, his breath warm against Merlin’s ear “when you were dancing with Mordred.”

 

The memory of it — the dance club, Arthur’s eyes on him as he rubbed against Mordred’s body shamelessly, his dark shot pupils, made him blush all over again.

 

“Different thing” he muttered, and Arthur made a noise of agreement with his throat.

“Yes — but you were… In very good sync. I can see…” he cleared his throat again. “I can see _why_ Percy ended up jealous…”

 

Merlin almost froze under the comment, which was the closest thing to an admittance of being observing that he had got from Arthur. His date’s body pulled him, though, and they kept on dancing.

 

“Can you?” he asked, his voice trembling a bit, and Arthur laughed.

 

“Yes” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I _definitely_ can…”

 

“Were _you_?” he nagged, wanting to know, and pulling his head backwards, to look at Arthur.

 

He didn’t reply at first, eyes meeting Merlin’s for a long moment, before they seemed to be pulled to Merlin’s mouth, and he couldn’t help but do the same, watching Arthur’s perfect lips, just a bit open, as if waiting for something, as if ready to be kissed. He licked his lips without even noticing, and Arthur groaned, a sound that made his cock twitch with interest. The movement was slight, but it brought Arthur’s eyes back to his.

 

“Yes” Arthur admitted, finally, “Yes. I wanted to dance with you like _that_.”

 

“You could have” Merlin didn’t even notice they had stopped dancing and were now just standing at the dance floor, staring at each other.

 

“Not a good idea” he said, in a half-whisper. “Might have ended up… Kissing you.”

 

Merlin just took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as his knees seemed to become jelly.

 

“You can kiss me now” he answered, then, wanting, waiting, hoping.

 

Arthur didn’t need any more permission than that. He tilted his head a bit up, at the same time Merlin tilted his down, his eyes fluttering shut, and the two met halfway in a gentle touch.

 

It was almost nothing, just like the first time, but just like the first time, it seemed to ignite something massive in him, as if he was being electrified — but without the sharp sting of a shock. Arthur moved minutely, making the pressure stronger, and Merlin’s lips fell open, trying to caress his more fully, to rub at his pouted lips. He could not think, could not breathe, only feel, and it lasted forever until the moment Arthur pulled back, looking ragged.

 

“Better… Stop” he said, clearly as out of breath as Merlin was. “Or I won’t… I won’t be able to control myself.”

 

“Don’t” Merlin told him, making the move this time, and clashing their lips together.

There was no finesse at this, not now. The two of them were kissing fully, mouths open, opening and closing to touch each other lips, and it was heaven and not enough. Merlin licked tentatively at Arthur’s mouth and he moaned quietly, and that was all permission he needed to stick his tongue into Arthur’s mouth, meeting his, caressing and teasing and Arthur bit the intruder playfully, making him pull back, laughing.

 

Percy catcalled at them, and Merlin felt his face heating.

 

“Let’s go” Arthur said, firmly, pulling Merlin by his hand.

 

“Don’t you have… I don’t know, best man things to do?” he asked, faintly, wanting to continue this but not wanting to be on the way.

 

Arthur stopped at the table, taking out his boutonniere and putting it on Leon’s lapel.

 

“Leon, you’re in charge of Best Man duties now” he said, his voice firm in spite of the fast pulse Merlin could feel in his wrist.

 

“I thought Gwaine was the step-best man” Mithian said, frowning, and all of them turned to where Gwaine was — on the dance floor, arms around Morgana once again. There was little way to misinterpret the her arms pulling his back, trying to get him closer although there was no space left between them. Gwaine’s hands were gripping her hips, and Arthur turned back with one raised eyebrow.

 

“How long do you think they’ll last here?” he asked, and it was probably meant to be rhetorical question.

 

“Fifteen minutes” said Leon, getting the boutonniere, and Percy interfered.

 

“50 says it’s less than ten.”

 

“I’ll match that” Mordred added, with a smirk. “For _six_ minutes and thirty seconds starting…” he looked at his wristwatch. _“Now_.”

 

Leon shrugged, accepting the bet, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

 

“Way to kill the mood — right, Leon, hold the fort.”

 

“And I _won_ that bet” added Mordred as Arthur started to leave, pulling Merlin along.

 

“Worst people” he muttered, and Arthur laughed.

 

“Yeah, well, and the best” he winked, pulling Merlin into the elevator with him.

 

And Merlin could not disagree with that.

 

* * *

 

 

Kissing Arthur was intoxicating, and Merlin could barely notice the elevator dinging. He couldn’t even remember the number of his room, but Arthur had it under control, walking him down the hall and pressing Merlin against the door as he tried to open it. His mouth was everywhere — at Merlin’s, at his earlobe, making him shiver, at his neck making him want to claw at Arthur’s back. Arthur finally managed to make the damn thing give in, and they stumbled into the room.

 

For a second, all they did was look at each other, out of breath, and then something primal, desperate, woke up inside Merlin — something that had been locked down strongly for months of pining, months of watching, of wanting and not daring and it made him step ahead and pull Arthur to him by his red tie.

 

Merlin held him close, kissing him deeply, desperately, not caring the slightest about what he would think, just caring about feeling him, hearing him moan. He didn’t let go of Arthur’s shirt, using it to keep him close as his hands pulled his own tie loose. Arthur started to pop the buttons of his shirt open, and Merlin just moved from kissing his mouth to biting his neck. There was no time for restraint, only for a need that could never be fully sated — to taste him, to feel him, to have him. Arthur tugged his shirt free from the trousers and pushed it away along with his jacket. Merlin only let go of him so the useless cloth could slide to the floor before stepping back close and pushing Arthur against the door.

 

There was nothing, nothing that could taste that good, the way Arthur’s lips did, wine and chocolate and something spicy. Merlin licked into his mouth, chasing his tongue, the smoothness of his inner cheek and the roughness of the muscle moving to meet his. He barely noticed that his hands were working on their own, taking out Arthur’s tie, opening the collar buttons to give him access to his neck. Merlin rubbed his chin over it, feeling Arthur tremble and sigh at the touch of his beard, as he kept taking out his shirt. Merlin let his hand run through Arthur’s sides, feeling his skin and the way he seemed to love and dread his touch, before heading straight to the belt and opening it.

 

“Take it easy” Arthur whispered, and Merlin just smirked.

 

He bit down on Arthur’s neck before licking the spot immediately under his ear, making him moan loudly. The sound made Merlin rock hard in a second, and he bucked his hips to meet Arthur’s, feeling the wonderful way their erections slid against each other. He could do it forever, just stay like this, his nose behind Arthur’s ear and their bodies flush against each other. It was blissful. And then — then he felt Arthur’s cock twitch and it was all on again. Arthur turned a bit, capturing his lips, and Merlin let him, as he moved to open his trousers. The silky material fell away as soon as the zipper was open, sliding down Arthur’s legs. Merlin didn’t even bother looking, and if anyone had asked, he wouldn’t even be capable of saying what colour Arthur’s boxers had been, because as soon as one layer was out of the way, he was pushing into the next one, still kissing Arthur.

 

His fingers scraped the thin skin on the juncture of Arthur’s hips to his legs, and Merlin moaned for one second before ripping the boxers off him as quick as he could. He stepped back to allow Arthur to finish the work he had started, pulling his pants a bit more before they too fell away leaving him gloriously naked.

 

Merlin had seen much of Arthur before — he seemed the kind of man who was supremely comfortable with his body, never minding much who saw it. Arthur’s tendency to walk around sans shirts had been a sort of torture to him during the last few months, as he watched him, memorising the shape of his nipples, the path of the fuzzy hairs on his chest, the way they led down. Seeing Arthur in nothing but his towel, once, had made him hard faster than anything in his life, but this was completely different.

 

This was all of him.

 

Merlin just watched as Arthur stepped out of his clothes, leaning down to take out his shoes and socks taking a step back instead of forwards as he got naked. Merlin watched the shape of his feet, and the power of his calves, the hair covering his knees and the powerful, muscled legs that led towards his glorious cock, flushed red now, pointing towards him, wanting him, waiting for him, and on to the golden hair around it, to the belly he had wanted to bite so often and the bellybutton he wanted to lick, on to the chest that called his eyes, nipples hard as well, the shoulders he had often touched, the arms that had held him, the neck with bite marks, and his ridiculously beautiful face.

 

Looking at Arthur was almost like looking like a piece of art, admiring all its imperfect forms, rejoicing in the result — but better, because he was real, and could be touched — impossible like a god, and Merlin wanted nothing but to fall to his knees and worship him.

 

And that was exactly what he did, stepping forward and falling down in front of Arthur.

 

Merlin started down, through the ankles, kissing up towards the calves and reaching the thighs he nipped at. Ignoring the twitching dick for now, he kissed up his hips, licking a stripe at the soft skin he had felt before, biting the lowest part of his belly and moving to suck at his bellybutton. It was glorious, and made Arthur squirm, his dark dick rubbing against Merlin’s neck. He moved on and on, kissing up until he reached the nipples. He licked at Arthur’s right one, and the man moaned loudly, which just led Merlin to repeat the action, squeezing the left one between his fingers. After a few seconds, he just switched sides, feeling Arthur’s dick leaking precome on his chest. It reminded him that there was so much more he wanted to do, and he kissed up, sinking his teeth in Arthur’s shoulder without a care in the world, licking his neck, pulling his head to meet him in a kiss.

 

Arthur’s kiss was desperate now, as if he wanted so much more. Merlin let him buckle against his body, ignoring his own needs and thinking of the pleasure he wanted to give this man. For a moment, he let the kiss continue, before he pulled back again, lowering himself with a grace that was complete opposite to what he had shown on the dance floor, and just stared at the prize he was about to get.

Merlin was almost out of breath, and he took a minute to just breathe, feeling Arthur’s reaction to the touch of warm air. He wanted nothing more than to move on, but to do it right, he needed to prepare himself. He looked up, at Arthur’s face as he watched Merlin, while he took out his own belt and popped up his own trousers, giving himself some space. He could see the way his pupils were blown, and it made him feel absolutely powerful, even while kneeling. Wetting his lips, he opened up his mouth, before going in.

 

Merlin let his lower lip rub over the covered head of Arthur’s cock, softly, before using his hand to pull the hood back. The skin was even redder here, glistening with pleasure, and Merlin could do little but to rub his lower lip through the underside, feeling it. Arthur trembled, and Merlin looked up, straight at him, before opening his mouth and enveloping him. Arthur’s loud moan was like a symphony in itself, and he hollowed his cheeks, trying to get more of it. Closing his eyes, he took more of it into his mouth, as much as he could, until it was covering the entrance of his throat. He used his hands to caress Arthur’s legs, cup his balls, before moving back, out of breath. He stopped, holding his cock with one hand while the other caressed the spot right behind his sack, and started to lick it — playfully, deliciously, from top to bottom, all over his length, rubbing his face at it when the spit covered skin touched his. Using his hands to spread his legs, he mouthed at Arthur’s balls, before coming back to lick his way up to the tip of his dick.

 

Taking a deep breath, Merlin took it in his mouth again, preparing himself and kept going down and down until he had swallowed it all, his nose touching Arthur’s hairs, smelling him. After a beat, he hollowed his cheeks, making Arthur curse.

 

“Jesus Christ!” the man went, and Merlin needed to control the urge to laugh.

 

Slowly, he pulled back out, twisting his head to the side when he got to the head, and Arthur’s hand instinctively grabbed his hair. There was little Merlin would have enjoyed more than to just let Arthur fuck his mouth, but the other man seemed almost ashamed of his outburst, and let go, trembling. He swirled his tongue over the tip, before moving down again, back and forth in a steady rhythm. He sucked as hard as he could, trying to keep his tongue caressing the underside of it, trying to take as far as he could and still move, fighting against the gag reflex to the wonderful pleasure that was having his mouth filled like this. Arthur was not as thick as Merlin himself was, but he was still something of a mouthful, and it felt wonderful.

Moving back a bit, Merlin let only the tip into his mouth before sucking desperately, as if it were a pacifier, and Arthur moaned grabbing his hair again. He could feel the furious pulsing of Arthur’s cock as he sank down again, hollowing his cheeks completely, and Arthur lost his fight for control, and with something that was almost a scream, he came into Merlin’s hungry mouth. Arthur tasted almost sweet, with just a hint of salty, and Merlin savoured every bit of it before swallowing. He looked up to where Arthur was, looking a bit out of it against the door and came up quickly for a kiss.

 

Arthur returned it enthusiastically, and even made a few moves to pull Merlin’s pants out, but Merlin still had plans. Holding Arthur while he was pliant, he took him towards the bed, letting him drop down before stopping and looking around.

 

“Do you have… things?” he asked, knowing how ridiculously it sounded under the circumstances, and Arthur snorted.

 

“On the bedside” he said, and quickly Merlin found it — a large packet of condoms and a new bottle of lube. It made him smirk.

 

“Very sure of yourself” Merlin said, showing it, and Arthur laughed.

 

“Well, _you_ asked me out” he pointed out and Merlin shrugged.

 

“Didn’t mean I was going to put out” Merlin told him, and Arthur’s smile was a sin.

 

“You may not, but I have plans to” he said, and Merlin could only gasp at it. “Come on.”

 

Merlin made short work of his own trousers and pants, taking out his shoes and ignoring the socks in his eagerness to get to Arthur, who was still laying down on his back. The man started to make a move to change his position, but Merlin stopped him with a hand.

 

“Don’t” he told Arthur, before coming over to kiss him again.

 

It didn’t last long, until he was coming down over his body one more time, and Arthur let out a yelp as he mouthed his spent cock. Merlin didn’t stop, though, going to suck at his balls, and spreading his legs wide, so that he could see Arthur’s hole properly. It was, as everything in Arthur, perfect — and he ran his finger over the sensitive skin, feeling as Arthur tightened around him before relaxing, and tightening again, almost sucking Merlin’s finger in the process. And, yeah, Merlin wanted to feel it, feel him, but _more_ than what his fingers would give.

 

Merlin lowered himself, kissing down, and licked around the puckered hole. Arthur moaned loudly, and Merlin splayed his lips against it, sucking. Arthur was clearly sweaty, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He licked eagerly at it, poking it with the tip of his tongue, breaching him. Arthur used his legs to keep Merlin at it, and Merlin didn’t need any more reaction to know he was meant to continue. He lapped at Arthur’s ass, using his fingers to spread it more open, to give him better access, to enter Arthur’s hole along with his tongue.

 

Arthur was warm and tight and _perfect_ for his fingers, perfect for his mouth. Ignoring logic in his enthusiasm, he pushed his finger deeper, while still trying to lick around it. He moved his finger up and down, searching, until Arthur’s gasp let him know he had found the Right spot. Merlin pulled a bit so he could push in another finger, trusting his spit to be enough, and Arthur tensed just a bit — and wasn’t it delicious? — before he accepted it. Merlin just kissed anywhere he could while he massaged Arthur, making him whimper. To have him like this, so undignified under his fingers, was an honour he wasn’t willing to share, ever. He kissed Arthur’s crotch, bit his legs, and panted as his fingers moved slowly, in and out. He didn’t watch what he was doing, but he watched Arthur, sweating, moaning, bucking his hips and Merlin tried to scissor him, his tired cock starting to fill again.

 

Merlin was starting to wonder if he should add another finger when his eyes met Arthur’s — and he just looked wrecked, his lips bitten into, and he stared at him for a second, losing track of what he was going to do.

 

“Just… Just _fuck_ _me”_ Arthur pleaded, and Merlin’s cock twitched so violently at hearing his voice like that, so needy, so desperate, that he thought he was going to come right then.

 

Merlin pulled his fingers out, leaving him empty. He focused on getting the condom open and rolling it down on himself while Arthur watched from lowered eyelids. Popping the lube tube open, he applied it generously to himself, smearing some on Arthur too, where his saliva had already dried. Merlin came over the bed, standing on his knees, leaning to get a pillow to make Arthur more comfortable when he was pushed on the bed. He barely had time to understand what was happening before Arthur was straddling him, all his previous slowness replaced with surety as he pulled Merlin to a sitting position, using the pillows he had been looking for to adjust his back, and rose on his ankles, moving most of his weight to his knees. His hands trembled a bit when he held Merlin’s slick cock steady, but it was but a second before Merlin could know no more, all thoughts and perceptions vanishing as Arthur sank down on him.

 

It was just a bit, but it was wonderful. He felt Arthur breath and grunt over him, but he couldn’t open his eyes, because if he looked at him — if he saw him — he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He let Arthur do all the work, coming slow inch by inch, until there was nowhere left to go and Merlin was fully inside him. It was heaven, and for a moment the two of them just breathed. Merlin opened his eyes to see Arthur’s concentrated face, trying to relax around him, and brought his hand to Arthur’s nape, pulling him close for a kiss. It was a terrible angle, and he could barely touch lips, but Merlin just moved his hand hand up and rested his forehead against Arthur’s. They didn’t move, just breathing each other for a long moment, before Arthur rolled his hips tentatively, making Merlin moan loudly.

 

There was little he could do but hold on to Arthur’s back and shoulders for dear life as he moved — up and down his cock, in sharp, pointed trusts. Merlin bit his lip, and Arthur leaned forwards, licking his mouth open. Their tongues touched in a mess, even if their mouths could barely meet. Then, Arthur rolled backwards and moaned loudly. Holding to the headboard, he just did it again, and his time the twitch of Arthur’s body made Merlin whine with pleasure. He opened his eyes to see Arthur smirking at him and doing it again before adjusting himself and rolling forwards instead.

 

The movement made Arthur’s cock rub strongly against Merlin’s belly, and it was hard once again, jabbing at him while Arthur moved continuously. Merlin gripped his hips, not caring if it would leave marks — let it be, let everyone know that he had had Arthur this night, that he would have Arthur as many times as he was allowed, because he _could not_ let him go. The thrilling feeling that his kiss had sparkled was nothing when compared to the complete wave of electricity that seemed to envelope him now, sparkling into fire everywhere their bodies touched. He allowed his hands to slid down, hands around the perfect round globes of his arse, pushing him closer, and Arthur didn’t need any more enthusiasm to move faster. Merlin could barely breath, barely hold on, his hips bucking to meet Arthur’s movements, thrusting upwards in a madness that fogged everything else, feeling his toes curling and his legs shaking, coming up and up until it was more than what he could handle and he was moaning, shouting, sobbing Arthur’s name as he came.

 

Merlin could barely feel his body as he leaned into the pillows again, floating in a cloud, in a perfect haze. He didn’t really register that Arthur was moving until he felt himself pulled completely out of his hole. He missed the warmth, and sighed in longing for it, but Arthur was peeling the condom out of him carefully. Merlin just kept his eyes closed — just for a second more, just a minute before he could breath, and let out a loud yelp when Arthur’s mouth enveloped his oversensitive cock. Arthur sucked and licked in spite of his noise, making sure not a single drop was left, and Merlin could just watch in wonder for a moment. Arthur came back, a smirk in his face, before holding Merlin’s ankles and pulling him down.

 

He fell from his pillows in a heap, and Arthur laughed before kissing him again. Merlin felt the poke of his cock, and lowered his hand, wanting to help, but Arthur pulled back from the kiss and looked right into his eyes.

 

“Let me have you” he whispered, and Merlin’s cock twitched at this in spite of being far too soon. Merlin merely nodded, and Arthur wasted no time in getting himself a condom and putting it down, spreading lube on him in huge amounts. He took one of the pillows Merlin had been resting on and put it under Merlin’s hips, possibly to help with the angle. When his hands opened up Merlin’s cheeks, he felt his face growing heated — he _hadn't_ been lying when he said he had had no intentions of putting out, and he hadn’t taken any special care, but Arthur just smiled at him. “Beautiful. You are _beautiful_.”

 

He lowered his body to rest against Merlin’s, kissing him deeply as his hands slicked his hole, and then he was gone, holding himself, angling himself to come into Merlin. Pain shot through him, but Arthur shushed him, caressing his leg and hips, saying endearments, and he relaxed. Arthur pushed a bit more in, and Merlin clenched again, without being able to control it, and once again Arthur just kept talking him through it.

 

“Come on, you can do this, you are so amazing, come on, let me… I want to disappear on you, Merlin, let me…”

 

His words brought a shudder to Merlin’s body, and he relaxed, allowing Arthur to keep coming in. It was a slow process, but, eventually, it was done.

 

“Look at me” Arthur asked, and Merlin opened up his eyes to find out the man was almost completely covering him, his warm body over Merlin’s, his eyes flicking through his face. Arthur moved his hips ahead, and Merlin moaned, but he didn’t dare close his eyes. It was hypnotising, watching Arthur as he moved above him, fucking Merlin open — but, no, this was _not_ fucking anymore, not when Arthur lowered his head to pepper his face with butterfly light kisses, when his hand caressed Merlin’s torso, when he moved himself _just so_ as to perfectly rub the spot inside him, making Merlin’s body react immediately.

 

It was not the desperate, urgent thing it had been as he moved at leisure, reacting to Merlin’s every sound, until he just needed _more_ and tangled his legs around Arthur’s hips, using his feet to push him deeper. They moved together, in a crescendo, still staring at each other, lost in a world of their own. Merlin barely even noticed when he started to pant, his cock heavy between their bodies, being caressed by every movement of Arthur’s hips. The blond noticed, though, and readjusted himself so he could put his weight on his left elbow and wrap his right hand around Merlin’s dick. They were not so close now, but Merlin could barely notice the difference when Arthur’s baby blue eyes were on him, his mouth open in pleasure, Merlin’s name coming out of it, and it was a sight that he would never forget, and he just came again, sooner than he had in years, under Arthur’s hands. It was a pitiful thing, not the full amount as before, but the pleasure was no less for it.

 

“Merlin!” Arthur called, before stilling, under Merlin’s body clench, and spending himself again.

 

Merlin just waited until he opened his eyes back before he lunged in for a kiss, not wanting to be apart so soon, not wanting to have less than that ever again, and Arthur’s answer was just as enthusiastic. They kept kissing, Merlin’s arms tight around Arthur’s torso, his legs still enveloping him, until Arthur’s spend cock started to slip out. They stopped for a moment as their bodies shifted, and Arthur looked down at him, his eyes filled with something he couldn’t identify.

 

“Don’t move” he said, before pulling out. Arthur took off his condom, and got the other one from where he had left it on the bed, before heading to the bathroom. He came back with a small cloth, and cleaned Merlin’s belly, before heading out again. Merlin felt his eyes drooping, but he didn’t want to sleep — he didn’t want the moment to end, because god only knew where they would be after it.

 

Arthur was back by his side as fast as he could, kissing Merlin again before manhandling him to roll to his side, so Arthur could spoon him. Arthur’s body was sweaty and too warm, but Merlin couldn’t even care, all he could think was that _this_ was more than he had ever dared to dream, as Arthur kissed his nape and rest his head against the back of his.

 

He didn’t know when had been the last time — if ever — that he had fallen asleep so easily.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur woke up slowly, in the middle of the night, and he had needed a few moments before figuring out where he was — or what he was doing. The foreign room had been a bit jarring at first, but the comfortable warmth next to him made him remember. At some point during their sleep, they must have changed places — perhaps Merlin had even gotten out of bed — because he was now on Arthur’s left side, and the light pouring out through the window illuminated his sleeping face.

Asleep, he seemed younger, softer somehow. There were no lines — neither from laughter nor from frowning, just the smooth planes of his face, the sharp cheekbones that seemed to shine in the moonlight. He barely felt real, with something otherworldly about his beautiful face now. Without meaning to, Arthur ended up caressing it lightly, in a movement he wouldn’t have dared to do if the man was awake.

 

Well, that was not strictly true — there had been plenty of softness from both of them during sex, but he didn’t know if in the harsh light of day it would remain. He could only hope so.

 

His heart was beating fast, faster than he could have imagined; some sort of panic spreading through him at the idea that Merlin may regret it. They had barely drank, but there were things other than alcohol — namely lust — that may cloud one’s judgement. It had happened to Arthur before; confusing deep infatuation with something more, something else, something precious he didn’t dare name, not yet, but that he had never truly allowed himself to feel before. But Merlin, Merlin was impossible in each and every way, worming his way into his heart as some sort of… Magic. It was magic, the sappy, silly sort he had always laughed at even while writing it, but that seemed to be now working around him in the form of his ridiculous, adorable man.

 

The man he _didn’t_ want to let go of the man he had _just_ bedded, once, but seemed to know every part of. If someone had popped in and quizzed Arthur about each and every one of Merlin’s preferences — from the colour of his eyes to the way he preferred to be touched when going to sleep, somehow, Arthur felt confident that he could answer it. Worse, he felt confident that Merlin could tell the same things about him. It was a weird feeling, being so open to a person, but right now, Arthur didn’t care.

 

He didn’t care about anything other than keeping _this_.

 

He threw his arm around Merlin’s form, pulling him close and smelling his hair. A part of him told him he was being ridiculous, that this was far too much, but it seemed to do so almost out of duty while the whole rest of him jumped up and down saying _yes yes yes_ and _finally_!

 

There was peace with Merlin in the midst of his arms, the sort of peace he had never even imagined before.

 

Maybe this was it — what Lance felt when he held Gwen, what had made Elena turn her life around for Sefa, what made Elyan deal with Vivian’s insufferable habits, what made Leon and Mithian so steady, what made Mordred and Percy smile at each other that way, what kept his parents together even through shouting matches, what made Gwaine and Morgana so terribly uncomfortable and absolutely in tune all at once. Maybe this was _it_ for him.

 

No, scratch that, there was no maybe in the equation.

 

This was _it_ for him.

 

 _Merlin_ was it for him.

 

All this time he had been so completely alone — yes, he had excellent friends, and he had a loving family, but there had always been something, something he didn’t even dare acknowledge was there, but that had been clearly missing. In the end of the day, he had been just a smart mouthed kid with a talent for putting words on paper, but now… Now, it was as if everything before had been but a prelude, as if his life had just begun now — not alone, never alone again, because _nothing_ would make him give Merlin up. Now… He had to think of other people before he thought of himself, he had to cherish him, cherish — _this_ — to keep it and hold it and do all those things he had, once, doubted in life.

 

Now, though, holding Merlin close, watching him as he slept, he felt absolutely _ready_. Ready for everything and anything, for all the possibilities in life, because there was _nothing_ he couldn’t handle as long as he could come back to _this_.

Whatever the cost, he would make damn sure he always could, because _this_? _This_ was the true meaning of paradise.

 

* * *

 

 

If anyone had ever told him that he would wake up early and avoid moving in order to watch someone else sleep, he would have told the person they had had too much to drink — but now… Now it seemed only natural. It was a _need_ he had, to memorise each and every trace of her face, to cling to every moment he had with her, because it couldn’t — wouldn’t — last. In a couple days, she would be gone again, God knew for how long. In a while — maybe not so soon, but eventually — she would move on with her life and leave him behind.

 

That was how those things worked, after all — you found someone, someone who could truly _get_ you, in a fundamental level, and then, then it was gone. They went away and you were left to get the pieces back together the best way you could. For a long time, he had feared it, but now… Now he hadn’t even managed to avoid it if he wanted to. There was something in Morgana, something so _different_ and at the same time so _similar_ that meant he didn’t even notice anything more until it was too late to go back, too late to stop.

 

He couldn’t feel his arm, but it mattered so little when he could feel his heart, truly feel it, for the first time in years. He _loved_ her, caution be damned, and if it depended on him, he would keep on loving her for a long, long time.

 

He just didn’t think she’d let him.

 

Morgana took a deep breath, moving a bit, and Gwaine prepared himself for the inevitable. Sure, they might have breakfast, and she might even return to the city with him, but the moment she opened her eyes, well. It was the beginning of the end. Every new day was one less day he’d have with her. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did.

 

She opened up her eyes, glaring at the open window before turning towards him. She curled herself in his side, pushing him to lay on his back and putting her head on his shoulder, hiding her face on his neck. He could feel her breathing, and moved his mostly insensible arm to wrap it around her.

 

Just once. He deserved to have it, just once.

 

Morgana purred at it, coming even closer, moving her leg to rest above his hips. After a few seconds, though, she moved it again, caressing his morning wood with the inner part of her leg.

 

That was what she was here for, anyway.

 

Morgana moved her head up, planting a kiss on his neck, and Gwaine steeled himself for what was to come — one more time, one less time. He let his free hand act as it normally would, coming to caress the side of her body with a touch that could barely be felt before touching the side of her breast. Morgana giggled, and moved closer to him, her lips on his ear now.

 

“Good morning” she said, and he could hear her smile.

 

“Good morning” he answered, trying to make his voice sound as perky as usual.

 

“You know” she said, conversationally, bringing her leg back from where it had been. “I could get used to this.”

 

Gwaine tried to laugh, but there was no humour in it — just irony.

 

“Alas, soon you’ll be gone” he answered, freeing his arm from under her and turning his back to her, waiting for the blood to flow through it again.

 

“Not for long” she said, coming closer again and spooning him. “Actually, I’ve been planning to move back to Camelot in the Fall.”

 

It was cruel, that was what it was. His heart was racing, and he kept as still as he could, trying to sound completely lackadaisical as he answered.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah” she said, burying her nose in his hair for a moment, before coming back up, her mouth next to his ear again. “We could be doing this _a whole lot more_ … Unless it’ll cramp your style too much.”

 

He snorted at this, shaking his head, hardly daring to believe it.

 

“I think I can live with that” he said, with a smile.

 

“Good” Morgana answered, and her voice was all business now, like a general preparing for war. “’Cause I’ve been thinking you may need to.”

 

Gwaine remembered the bouquet from the day before — the one he was _sure_ Gwen had aimed straight at Morgana, as incongruous as the two were, and laughed.

 

Somehow, it didn’t seem so terrible as it would have been once upon a time.

 

“Yes — I think I may _want_ to.”

 

Morgana never answered his words, just pulled his chin closer and kissed him again, and for the first time in more years than he could count, Gwaine felt a true glimmer of hope.


	6. Epilogue: The Final Page

 

Morgana was a bit tired. She didn’t, to this day, regret the decision to move back to Camelot, but it was, sometimes, not very practical. She had just returned from a photo shooting in New York, and was still reeling a bit from the jet lag, but it meant _nothing_ to her father, who made a point that she _must_ come in and have lunch with him and Merlin at the Courtyard, his new favourite restaurant. She didn’t know if she felt jealous of Arthur for being off shooting in France, in the beautiful Pierrefonds castle where he was filming his next drama — a period piece — or sorry for Merlin who was being forced to eat with Uther either way.

 

Well, they _had_ been together for almost three years. It was about time that he got used to Uther. He didn’t even growl upon seeing Merlin anymore, which was a _very good_ advancement. He still _refused_ to meet Gwaine — officially speaking, he had never been introduced as her boyfriend. It said _much_ about Gwaine’s reputation — and her own — that her father was more willing to accept that Arthur was living with another man than that she was dating him.

 

The late November weather was freezing, and she didn’t know _who_ had had the brilliant idea of an outdoor lunch, but there was no arguing with Uther. If he wanted to eat out in the open, he would, and it wouldn’t be something as silly as a the cold that would stop him. Morgana could already feel the holidays approaching, and it reminded her of the works she had to hand in for her night course in uni. It was _such_ a pain in the ass, but it would be worth it — soon. It was almost done. The term was ending and she would soon be able to rest in her house, with a good hot chocolate — and, of course, other hot things.

 

The plaza was already decorated for Christmas, a huge tree in the middle of it. Fairy lights completed the decoration, in unending threads that would probably look beautiful at night, but that right now were mostly just something above her head. There were mistletoes and garlands spread evenly through it, and she spotted more than one couple kissing under it. On the left corner, a group of teenagers was yelling and cheering for two of them to kiss, and it made her remember how she and Mordred had planned carefully for his first kiss with Percy.

Seemed like a lifetime away now.

 

Trying not to get too annoyed with her dad for hijacking her day, Morgana approached, leaning down and kissing his cheek, before doing the same with Merlin. Her brother-in-law looked as if he was ready to be sick. It was _not_ an unusual thing for him to be around Uther, still, it was funny. He needed to relax a bit. Morgana sat down, thankful for her thick trousers because there was no way that the cushions weren’t freezing, and ordered herself some water.

 

“We’re having champagne” Uther said, and there was nothing to be done but sigh. The old man would get his way, whatever she said.

 

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, and Uther smiled. It was a terrifying thing.

 

“Young Merlin, here, has just asked me for permission to propose” he said, with a proper nod. “I said yes, naturally.”

 

“Naturally” she answered, although it would have been unthinkable a short time before. Uther had raged and ranted and blamed everyone when he found out that _not only_ Arthur _really_ did date man and those weren’t just mean gossipers and photoshop, _but also_ was _living_ with one that he was having sex with. One could have imagined that something much more disastrous had happened than her brother simply learning how to have a heart, but no. She looked at Merlin with a smile, though, because it made her really happy. Those two deserved it — and anyone could see how _perfect_ they were for each other. They were _not_ as sappy as Lance and Gwen, but there was some undeniable quality that bond them as if they were one. “Congratulations.”

 

“He still needs to say yes” Merlin seemed queasy at the thought, and Morgana laughed while Uther bristled.

 

“Nonsense. Of course he will say yes. What else could he say?” He raised an eyebrow, before turning towards Morgana. “Now, if only you could show some sense…”

 

“We’re _not_ going there” she warned, as the champagne arrived. “Today is about Merlin — and Arthur, although he isn’t here.”

 

She accepted the glass and allowed the waiter to pour her the drink, before turning towards them.

 

“To Merlin and Arthur” her father announced.

 

“Yes, to Merthur” she added, with a smirk, and Uther looked at her, not impressed.

 

“May you find in your marriage the bliss I found in mine” he said, before touching his glass to theirs.

 

“Speaking of which” she said, after a sip. “How is mom?”

 

“She’s fine” Uther said, his tone mild. “Planning holidays in the Colombian Caribbean. She would love it if you gave her some tips.”

 

“Alright” she said, putting her glass down. “I’ll do it.”

 

Suddenly, music started to play loudly on the Plaza speakers. A very common, almost traditional Christmas song, but it made her father frown in disgust either way.

 

“Why do they have to put this things blasting?”

 

Morgana was about to answer, when the entering tunes of Jingle Bell Rocks gave way to what was _definitely_ not the traditional lyrics, and in a voice that she knew far too well for comfort.

 

_“Jingle balls, jingle balls, jingle my rocks_

_Jingle your tits, and Jingle my cock_

_Stripping and blowing, it’s lots of fun_

_Now that you’re my number one”_

 

Morgana looked wildly around, but she couldn’t see him anywhere. Uther seemed absolutely horrified at it, but Merlin seemed to be holding back his laughter, as if he had been clearly expecting this. She wondered if he had warned Gwaine that her father was around — but the glint in his eyes said he hadn’t. Arthur was about to become a widow before he even proposed.

 

Suddenly — there he was — and not alone. A whole gag of girls — four, to be more precise — were around him, all five of them dressed the same way: in slutty Santa helpers outfit, full with fishnets. Morgana took a second to admire how well it worked on Gwaine’s legs, before her father called her name.

 

“Morgana! What’s the meaning of this?” Uther hissed, and she just laughed as Gwaine continued to sing.

 

_“Jingle all, jingle all, jingle non stop_

_Like soda lime, you’re so sublime_

_Singing and screwing in this love affair_

_I was caught unaware”_

 

He was dancing as outrageously as she had imagined he would have, if he hadn’t been stopped the first time around. The girls around him were doing the exact same thing, though not nearly as funny as him. Gwaine walked towards her, not missing a single step or a single note as he noticed that Uther was on the table as well. His eyes glinted, though, threateningly at Merlin.

 

_“What a bright time, it’s the right time_

_To bring you back my way”_

 

He came close enough to offer her his hand, and Morgana stood up, allowing him to bring her with him to the middle of the plaza. Not only all the patrons at the Courtyard were observing now, but the people that had been passing around had stopped to look as well. He smiled at her and winked in that charming rogue way that he had, still singing all the time.

 

_“Jingle bell time is the spell time_

_To throw a rock in your way”_

 

She frowned a bit, sure she had misheard it, but there was no time to wonder about it as he pulled her to the midst of them, beaconing her to join in the dancing. Morgana laughed, feeling both supremely silly and elated, because _this_ was completely Gwaine, and part of the reason why even after three years she felt as if each day was a new adventure with him.

 

The following verse started, and she tried to continue, while Gwaine moved on, becoming increasingly bolder at each line, almost as if this were a musical in fact.

 

“ _Jingle bell time is a swell time_

_To drop on my knees and pray”_

 

He knelt in front of her, closing his hands in with the Mic in the midst of it. She laughed, but followed the left-right-back-front step the girls were going it.

 

_“Giddy-up Morgana pick up my treat_

_Wear it around the clock”_

 

Gwaine got a Santa hat and waved around as if it were a Stetson, and people were now clapping in tune with him, as he continued, spreading his arm to cover them all, before turning towards her, his face filled with mirth and joy as he entered the final part of the song.

 

_“I’ve made this lyrics to help on my feat_

_Just accept this_

_Just accept this_

_Just accept this rock”_

 

With that, he dropped down again, only on one knee now, and from unimaginable places he summoned a box — an open box, with a ring inside. A ring with a single, huge, shiny, sparkling rock.

 

A diamond ring.

 

There was no questioning what it meant.

 

Morgana didn’t know how to react to it — because she had thought it was just one more of those outrageous behaviours that Gwaine seemed to love, but it was _so much more_ than that.

 

It was… simply impossible.

 

And there were no questions about what would her answer be, although he hadn’t asked.

 

She opened the biggest smirk she could.

 

“You’ll have to ask” she told him, having fun with how he was kept on his knee on the freezing floor, at the whole expectant audience.

 

Gwaine didn’t wince, as she thought he would, he simply stood up, with a nod, and brought the microphone close to his mouth.

 

“Morgana Pendragon. You are the most _impossible_ , _gorgeous_ , _infernal_ woman — no, person — I’ve ever met. You drive me _crazy_ and you _love it_. You even make me feel like there is _hope_ for me — for you — for this. These past three years — they haven’t been _easy_ , but they have been _right_. You have a hold on my heart I could not undo even if I wanted to — and I can’t even see myself wanting to. I thought, once, love was something for idiots and fools, something that came and went but with _you_ ” he stopped, shaking his head, a fond smile in his face. “With you, I’m _glad_ to be a fool. With you, it doesn’t seem so foolish. It can be overwhelming, and challenging, and even _painful”_ Gwaine wiggled his eyebrows, and she giggled while part of the audience laughed. “But I can’t stop it more than I can stop breathing. I am hopelessly, inexorably, in love with you — maybe more than you know. Certainly more than I had ever thought possible. So much that every morning I don’t wake up next to you is a wasted morning, because I _wish_ you were there — I always want you there. So, Morgana” he knelt again, offering the ring once more. “Will you marry me?”

 

“You’re an idiot” she informed him, making all of them laugh, but her smile was a clear answer. “Yes — Yes, I will.”

 

Gwaine lost no time in dropping the microphone, ignoring the loud thud that reverberated making people flinch, and proceeded to take the ring out of the box and sliding it onto her extended finger. She had but a second to glance at how it matched her hand, before he was up and pulling her close, and Morgana could hear people cheering even before his lips touched hers. She opened up her mouth, forgetting about them, about the dancers, about Merlin and her father, about anything and everything that was _not_ them, the two mouths touching and opening to each other in a dance that had taken them long to perfect but that now felt as natural as breathing. It was almost funny to think of how mismatched their first kiss had been when every movement of them screamed of chemistry.

 

“You needed to make a scene, didn’t you?” she said, as they pulled apart, and Gwaine grinned.

 

“Had to make sure you would say yes” he answered, rubbing his nose against hers.

 

“Of course” she scoffed, shaking her head. Gwaine leaned down and kissed her again, and she just let herself be held under the freezing wind, his shiny hair slapping her face.

 

He pulled her close, deepening the kiss, until they were both out of breath.

 

“Well, good thing there was already champagne on the table” she told him, with a smirk. “I’m _sure_ my father will be _dying_ to toast to this.”

 

Gwaine looked pained for a second, before squaring his shoulders as if he was preparing for a battle and nodding.

 

“Sure, just let me change my clothes and….”

 

“Absolutely not” she cut him. “Just go the way you are.”

 

“Morgana” he said, with a sigh. “I’m wearing a miniskirt and fishnets. I _can’t_ go talk to your father like this.”

 

“If you can ask me to marry you in _this_ , you can damn well talk to him” she told him, smirking. “Now, I don’t know how well this will work for you when being compared to Merlin, who he now _loves_ ” Gwaine groaned at the age old comment. “Especially now he actually _asked permission_ to propose to Arthur. I’m guessing you didn’t.”

 

“Of course not” Gwaine scoffed. “What is this even? The tenth century? Should I bow and call him your majesty as well?”

 

Morgana laughed, because, yes, it was ridiculous and old fashioned, and she much preferred Gwaine’s completely insane scheme, but that was it.

 

“I’m sure he’ll learn to live with it” she said, waving it away. “If you haven’t given him a heart attack in the process, but I _think_ Merlin would have warned us. Or, you know, the paramedics and sirens. Come — let’s meet my father.”

 

“You’re the worst” he told her, but there was no denying the love in his eyes and she got to her tiptoes and kissed him again.

 

“And yet, you can’t get rid of me now” she said waving her ring at his face. It made him smile at her, sweet, private.

 

Hand in hand, they approached the table where Merlin stood grinning maniacally, and Uther seemed about to have a stroke. It wasn’t going to be easy, but, somehow, Morgana felt sure the they could make it — that all of them would make it, sappy as it was, on to live happily ever after.

 


End file.
